


he ain't no friend of mine

by trellomonkey



Series: insomnia and ebony [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, also a university au sort of if you squint, but only in the sex department, fair warning promptis kinda gets sidelined by gladnis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 05:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9307529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trellomonkey/pseuds/trellomonkey
Summary: Ignis and Gladio own coffee shops on opposite sides of the street, and naturally, they hate each other. (Fill that got so out of control for the FFXV kink meme.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! So, after reading [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=382537#cmt382537) over at the FFXV kink meme, I thought, "gee, that'd be a fun relaxing thing to do." This took me five days and ended up being 34k. Someday I'll learn self control, but today is not that day.
> 
> But anyway this was really fun and I hope you like it.

Insomnia’s signature drink is called the “Mocha Cubed,” because Insomnia is cheeky and infuriating. It’s iced coffee with hints of coconut milk and about an eyedropper’s worth of chocolate syrup, and in lieu of ice cubes, it’s kept cold with frozen blocks of _more coffee_.

Ignis hands it back to Noctis with a scowl pulling at the corner of his mouth. “That’s wretched,” he says, mustering all the petty energy that only years of being a connoisseur and a pedant could generate. “Do they think that's clever? It's disgusting, is what it is.”

Noctis doesn’t seem bothered, though, and he takes the drink back to draw a long sip from Ignis’s forsaken straw. “I dunno, I think it’s pretty good.” It’s not so much an argument as it is a lazy excuse to drink the rest of it. “It’s kind of sweet, you know? It’s fun. We make sweet coffee.”

“If you draw any more comparisons like that, I’ll have you on dish duty for the rest of the month.”

Noctis doesn’t as much as flinch, and takes another sip. “You sure you don’t want anymore? You know, for intel gathering or whatever.”

He loves watching the way it makes Ignis’s eyebrow twitch, because it only confirms his suspicion that the coffee _is_ tasty and Ignis is just bitter about it. He remembers watching Ignis go through one barista gig after another at little hole-in-the-wall cafés and coffee bars, never able to hold onto a job for more than six months once the owners learned how much more Ignis knew about coffee than any of them.

Natural progression seems to have to lent itself to Ignis opening up his own business, and Noct just considers himself lucky, because his wallet was starting to get pretty thin from all the Not Having A Job he was doing.

He blinks at the cup in his hand. “You know, the ice cubes are a cool idea. They melt and the flavor profile changes.”

Ignis grabs it from his hand without looking and takes another sip, and his eyes narrow as he stares through the window to Insomnia’s black and gold plated front door across the street. They’ve got a sandwich board out front with cute, swirling chalk patterns, announcing the Special of the Day. _Pistachio-Rose Latte,_ reads the sign, little doodles of roses decorating the sides, _like velvet in a cup!_

Ignis lifts up the cap of the coffee to glare at the little mocha cubes inside. “It’s still wretched.” Noctis hums at the lie, wondering if he’ll ever get it back for long enough to finish it.

* * *

 

To be fair, Ebony Café & Pastries is the new kid in town and muscling in on Insomnia’s turf. For Ignis to have adopted such an immediate and fiery distaste for his established competitors only speaks to his perfectionism and his inability to chill the hell out. But still, he makes the _best_ macarons and Noctis gets to take them home for _free_ , so he doesn’t complain.

Insomnia Coffee Bar’s about as recognizable around town as the local university is, which seems to be the town’s only legitimate claim to functionality. In exchange for free desserts, it’s become Noct’s solemn mission to perform _very_ inconspicuous reconnaissance on Insomnia for purposes that elude him completely.

He sometimes even goes as far as wearing a _baseball cap_.

To the best of his and Ignis’s understanding, Insomnia was built from the ground up more than fifty years ago by Sylvian Amicitia, passed down to his son Clarus and finally to its current proprietor.

Apparently, his name is Gladiolus, but all the regulars just call him Gladio.

Noctis half expects him to pull out some Ignis-brand bullshit, like _enemy, thy name is Gladiolus_ , because his hobbies include knowing stuff about coffee and reading weird old books and _being Ignis_ , but Noctis brings him this information and all he does is turn his head to look out of Ebony’s front window.

“Good to finally put a name to the face,” he mumbles. Across the street, Insomnia is opening for business, a full two hours after Ebony. The man in the front terrace cranks open the sun umbrellas and carefully arranges the outdoor seating before setting up his surprisingly dainty sandwich board, given that he’s a veritable mountain of a man. _Caramel Ecstasy_ , the cursive reads, _wake yourself up slowly!_

He must be Gladiolus.

“I could go on mole duty again today, if you want.” Noctis tells him. He doesn’t know what a Caramel Ecstasy is, but boy, is he eager to _learn_. “Best to, you know, get as much info as we can. For subterfuge purposes.”

“You’re a traitor and a scoundrel, Noct. And there are customers at the counter.”

He makes sure to slump all the way back to the register. “I’m going after we close!”

* * *

 

Still, Ignis makes a _mean_ cup of coffee, and it’s really all that gets Noct through class most days. It’s free, it’s tasty, and most of the time Ignis slips him a tiny muffin or a brownie to go with it, because as much as he’s about as tightly wound as a box spring, he loves Noctis, in his own little ways.

Weirdly enough, people start calling him on it.

“Oh, is that coffee from that new Ebony place?” He never knows if it’s ever genuine curiosity or an excuse to start talking to him. “I’ve been going to Insomnia for so long, but if it’s good, it’d be fun to give it a try.” He shrugs noncommittally here, gives a tiny nod there. “Ebony? Aren’t they, like, trying to compete with Insomnia?” It’s about as interesting to Noctis as everything else about school is, but Ignis remarks to him a steady uptick in customer volume, and he doesn’t say anything, just realizes he knows why.

He’s nursing a gingerbread latte in the campus courtyard and dazing up into the clouds when someone plops down onto the bench next to him.

“Heya!” The guy’s immediately fifty percent bouncier than Noctis has the ability to comprehend at the moment, and wait, doesn’t he look familiar? Something about the blonde hair falling into his eyes, the smattering of freckles covering his nose, starts tugging at him like he’s forgetting something. “You probably don’t remember me, but I’m—”

“You’re Prompto,” he says, putting two and two together. “Argentum. Or is that wrong?”

Prompto seems stunned for about half a millisecond before busting into a blinding grin. “Whoa, really? You remember me?”

“Freshman marketing?”

“That’s the one!”

“I hated that class.”

Prompto grabs his arm. “Dude, _me too_.”

He figures this amount of touchiness from someone he only vaguely knows should bother him, but something about Prompto’s joviality and literal unawareness of personal space is weirdly endearing.

Prompto’s face is just the slightest tint of red from excitement, and it accentuates the freckles that dot under his eyes and down his throat. “I’ve heard from a couple of people that you’re the guy who works for the barista over at Ebony.”

Oh, not this again. It seems like all anybody ever wants to talk to him about is his job at Ebony or the whole “my dad’s sort of, kind of, a little bit rich” thing. In way of an answer, he gives the latte in his hand a little shake and takes another sip from it.

Prompto doesn’t seem deterred at all. “Cool! That’s awesome, see, I just got a job over at Insomnia.”

He has to stop himself from choking on his drink. “What, like, for Gladiolus?” He asks, and Prompto nods his head like an overexcited bobblehead. He’s suddenly wary of this conversation, and he wonders what Ignis would do, knowing that he’s communing with the apparent enemy. “Oh, uh. Sure, that’s cool. Why’d you need to talk to me about it?”

Prompto leans in close like the world’s biggest secret is trying its hardest to leap out of him. “Okay, so don’t tell your guy—what’s his name, anyway? The one with the glasses?”

“Ignis?” Noctis replies, feeling just a degree guilty.

“Ignis! Awesome, Ignis. Well, don’t tell him as much, but Gladio’s been, like, tripping all over himself since Ebony opened.” Prompto gesticulates with his hands a lot when he talks, Noctis notices, and from what he can see, those freckles reach all the way down to his wrists. “See, he’s _pissed_ that all of a sudden he’s gotta deal with competition, and if you ask me, I think your dude’s making him nervous. Gladio sees him as an actual threat, you know?”

“What’s there to be threatened by?” The idea that anyone could be threatened by Ignis is… well, not completely out of the question, but the trademark Ignis Scientia intimidation techniques don’t mess with Noctis the way they did when they were kids.

Prompto blinks. “His coffee. And those little desserts he makes.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve come in a couple times to bring back drinks and stuff for him to try. I mean, he swears up and down that your stuff is gross, but you should have seen how fast he downed the macchiato I got him last week.”

Noctis, mouth hanging slightly agape, suddenly feels like the scope of everything he’s so far understood has just grown immensely and without warning. “Do you wanna go for a walk?” He asks Prompto abruptly, and by the way the blonde nearly rockets out of his seat on the bench, he knows they’ve got a lot of ground to cover before Noctis’s shift starts.

* * *

 

Ignis had figured that knowing the name of Insomnia’s owner would have quelled the irrational side of him that wanted to see it run into the ground, like being able to put a name to the face would have humanized him. _Why not peacefully coexist?_ Ignis wants to say. _I specialize in baked goods, he has a monopoly on cocktails. There’s plenty of room for two coffee shops._

He’d been very, very wrong, and he feels very, very stupid.

The good news is that Noctis’s popularity at school, in spite of his complete obliviousness to it, has helped Ebony’s exposure grow exponentially. They still don’t have the same kind of customer flow as Insomnia, but at least now it’s comparable. College students hover in and out at regular two hour intervals between classes, ogling Ignis’s signature pastries through the display glass and taking pictures of their orders with the backdrop of the elegant, sophisticated décor.

Ignis’s firm grasp of coffee is really only outdone by his firmer grasp of poise.

But still, the elephant across the street is pulling at the edges of his mind, and that refers to the figure of speech and not Gladiolus, because he’s not _rude_. Even though Gladiolus might as well be a giant. Ignis is normally pretty confident in his six feet of height, but he’s sure standing next to Gladiolus Amicitia would put a crack in anybody’s self-esteem.

The more things he notices about Gladiolus, the more aggravated he becomes. He’s got long, detailed sleeves of tattoos on both sides of his body, teasingly visible when he wears short-sleeved shirts, and dark brown hair that he pulls away from his face while he serves customers. And they all seem to know him _so well_. He claps regulars on the back, laughs at jokes as he holds the door open, can be seen through Insomnia’s darkened windows doing elaborate drink-mixing tricks to a raptly attentive audience.

Ignis reminds himself that clenching his teeth is a bad habit, and that he should endeavor to do it less.

“Get this,” Noct starts, sliding in a new tray of cheesecake bites to replace the empty one, “Insomnia’s got a new assistant barista. I met him on campus a couple of days ago.”

Ignis arches an eyebrow at him. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. His name’s Prompto.” Ignis turns his attention back across the street, and lo and behold, there’s a blonde college student wiping down the outdoor seating tables, skinny and tapping his foot to whatever’s coming out of his earbuds. “You know, from what he’s told me, Gladio sounds like a really nice guy. He’s pretty strict about keeping hours and stuff, but Prompto said he has fun and the tips are good.”

“I’m sure,” Ignis says drily.

Noct waves a hand in front of his face, and it startles him. “You keep frowning like that and you’re gonna get wrinkles.” Ignis wants to remark that he’s only two years older than Noctis, but it feels childish and reactive, so he holds it in. “Why don’t you go over there sometime? Get a drink?”

“I have better things to do with my time than entertain the opposition,” he replies, and Noct snorts, unwrapping one of the less perfect cheesecake bites.

“Yeah, okay, like stare out the window and hope their building catches on fire?”

“When does your shift end?” His left eyelid begins to twitch. “How long have you been on the clock? You must be done soon.”

Noct just takes a bite out of the cheesecake. “Sorry, Specs, you’ve got two and a half hours of me to go.” He licks some of the sugar topping off his thumb and offers the other half to Ignis. “These are good, no wonder they keep selling out.”

Ignis sighs, but he takes the bait, because he’s only so strong. “Punishing you is impossible.”

“That’s the idea.”

* * *

 

Gladiolus Amicitia, for all his pride in his personal strength and sentiments of goodwill to other vendors of artisanal beverages, can’t help but want to murder Glasses Guy across the street.

“So,” Prompto starts, pretending to rearrange the garnish toothpicks while Gladio busies himself with actually serving customers, “turns out Mysterious Bakery Man actually has a name.”

Gladio grunts. “Cool, I can finally write something on the back of the voodoo doll I’ve been making.” It’s a dark joke, but Prompto laughs, and that Gladio can't help but feel a degree of pride. “Don’t leave me in suspense, kid, what’s his name?”

“Ignis, apparently.” Gladio clicks his tongue, rolls the name around in his mouth a bit. _Ignis_ , he thinks, _yeah, that’s a good nemesis name, Ignis_. “He’s finishing a master’s in business and he’s worked pretty much the whole barista circuit around town. I mean, aside from here, of course.”

Gladio finishes up an intricate rose in the latte he’s putting together. “So he’s a drifter.”

“As free as a tumbleweed on the prairie.” Prompto gestures widely with his arm, nearly knocking over a stack of hot cups next to the register.

Gladio passes the drink to the girl waiting in line, and her eyes light up when she sees the rose. Kind of makes the whole sore feet and permanently smelling like coffee thing worthwhile, that. “Wait, how’d you find all this out? You didn’t just waltz in there and ask him, did you? ‘Cause I swear, I’ll kill you.” He should have known _Prompto_ and _subtlety_ were two mutually exclusive concepts.

Prompto puts his hands up. “No way, dude! He’s got an assistant, too, and he used to be a classmate of mine.” He puts his hands on his hips, his chest puffed out, proud of his expert sleuthing abilities. “I hit him up and got the dirt. Also, he’s super nice, his name is Noctis.”

Gladio grunts. He crosses his arms as he approaches Prompto, and it has the exact effect he’d been hoping for, because Prompto’s eyes widen and he makes himself just the slightest bit smaller. “Alright, then, detective,” he says, “I want you to find out what his deal is.”

“What whose deal is?” Prompto asks.

“Whatever his name is.” He jerks his head in the general direction of Ebony. He knows the name’s Ignis, but he’s gotta keep a casual profile, doesn’t want Prompto getting any of the wrong ideas. “He opens up a store right across the street from my granddad’s and suddenly my regulars are arguing about which one of us is better. I’m all for some friendly competition, but only if I know exactly what pieces are on the board.”

“Dude,” Prompto remarks, “I think he just likes coffee and baking stuff.”

“You think.” Gladio says pointedly. “You think, but you don’t know.”

Prompto shrugs. “Why not give him a shot? Go in there, introduce yourself. Maybe make a friend!”

Something deep inside of Gladio ticks at that, the unmistakable feeling of _really_ not wanting to do something but realizing you probably have to do it. He covers it up with a scoff. “And what would I say? ‘Hey, I work across the street and came over here to size you up?’”

“I think that’d put the fear of death into anybody, Gladio, have you _seen_ yourself?” Prompto’s eyes catch on piece of lint on Gladio’s shirt and he picks it off before Gladio can stop him. He’s not so sure he could instill fear into anybody if he can’t even dissuade Prompto for more than ten seconds. That could also just be _Prompto_ , but he’s hedging his bets. “Or, you know, order a coffee. Or a macaron, he makes _crazy good_ macarons, according to Noct.”

Gladio’s not sure to be more scandalized by the suggestion or that Prompto has elected to give one of their rivals a nickname. “I know enough about how Four Eyes makes coffee to know he can’t hold a candle to anything we make here.”

“Which is why you had me spend _my_ money on it. Six times.”

Gladio sighs melodramatically. “Aren’t I such a magnanimous boss? I bet Ignis wouldn’t let you listen to music while you work, or flash your dumb camera around, or take drinks home for free—”

“Alright, alright, point made.” Prompto chuckles. He waves a hand to a small group of customers as they leave, and he makes his way toward their empty table with a spray bottle and a washrag. “Just give it some thought, big guy! It couldn’t hurt to meet some more people. The population of Pal Town is currently one, and it’s yours truly.”

“Untrue!” Gladio snaps. “Both parts of that sentence, completely wrong!” But Prompto just laughs and flaps the rag at him.

His eyes drift to Ebony across the street again, and he feels something disappointingly cave inside his body. The owner—or Ignis, apparently—is mingling with the outdoor tables and chatting up a pair of girls as he takes their order. His smile is serene and the way he cocks his hip is stylish and effortless, and the girls giggle to each other as goes back inside to start making their drinks. Gladio watches his back, broad shoulders and a trim waist, and he concludes, distantly, that he wants to snap the guy in half.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis decides, then, that this is the first step in a very gradual and understated act of sabotage. It has to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this piece is fully written and is only going up in installments because I'm editing it progressively as I post it. And as a fun fact, I wrote the first 15000 words (edit: remember that time I said 25000 words? Numbers are wild) of this in one sitting, because I momentarily lost my mind, I think.
> 
> Enjoy!

Noctis looks up when he hears the bell on the front door jingle. He opens his mouth to recite his customary _Hi, welcome to Ebony_ , but it dies in his throat as he realizes he’s looking directly at Gladiolus fucking Amicitia.

“Holy shit,” he says instead.

Gladio’s got his hands tucked in his jacket pockets, grinning easily. “That how you greet all your customers, or am I just special?” Noctis's own force of will grows smaller and smaller as Gladio approaches the register, because _surely_ he can’t be that tall, right? “Sorry, I didn’t come over here to rib you. Are you Noct?”

Ah, yes, there’s Prompto’s influence, loud and clear. “Uh, Noctis, technically.” He tries to shrug nonchalantly. “But Noct’s fine, too, I guess.”

There’s a part of him that wants to immediately hide, and he _really_ hates Ignis for taking that phone call in the back room right now. What’s he supposed to do here, anyway? For all he knows, this guy’s here to steal all of Ignis’s baking secrets and make off with all their napkins. Noctis decides, then, that this is the first step in a very gradual and understated act of sabotage. It has to be.

“Noct it is,” Gladio replies, and honestly, he’s got a nice smile. Prompto’s probably right in calling the guy friendly, it just feels like a betrayal of the deepest and most egregious kind to admit as much. “I was, uh, hoping I could have a word with your boss, if he’s not busy? Thought I’d introduce myself.”

Cool, an excuse to get the hell out of this conversation and hang out in the back until this all blows over. “Yeah, sure, let me grab him for you,” and he’s pretty sure he’s never spoken that quickly in his life. He’s almost positive the only thing that would have betrayed his anxiety would be how fast he fled from the register to push into the back room of the store.

“Ignis,” he says, and luckily Ignis is already wrapping up his call, “situation.”

“What did you do?” Ignis asks, but he just jerks his head in the general direction of the storefront.

Noctis steps aside, choosing to fiddle with the name cards under the display case, but out of the corner of his eye, he watches the extremely intricate roulette of emotions that pass by on Ignis’s face as he spots who’s behind the counter.

Gladio waves one impossibly large hand. “Hey, nice to meet you.”

For a moment, Ignis stands stock still, feet planted to the floor like he’s carved out of cement, but after that moment he cocks his head, and brilliantly, says, “Sorry, I’m not sure we’re familiar?” A very, very small part of Noctis feels terrible sympathy for Gladio, but a much larger part has to try _so hard_ to hold in what would be gut-busting laughter, because Ignis is _bloodthirsty_.

And does it have the intended effect or what, because Gladio stammers, having to reorient himself in the conversation. The hand flies up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, no, my bad. I, uh, I work across the street? At Insomnia?”

“Oh,” Ignis replies carefully, “right, Insomnia. You’ll have to excuse me, I’ve been so busy with opening Ebony that I haven’t had much time to acquaint myself with local selections.”

Noctis wants to _scream_.

Gladio laughs sheepishly. “No, it’s fine, I get it. Figured I’d introduce myself, since, you know. Neighbors and all that.”

At the very least, Ignis graces him with a smile, but Noctis recognizes it as his smug I-have-the-upper-hand-in-this-conversation smile. “Of course.” He holds his hand out across the counter and Gladio takes it in a firm shake. “Ignis Scientia. Pleased to make your acquaintance, and you are?”

“Gladiolus Amicitia. Most people call me Gladio, though.”

“Well, Mr. Amicitia,” Ignis starts, and Noctis is pretty sure that if refined verbal combat could actually kill a man, Gladio would be bleeding out on the floor by now, “can I get you anything? On the house, of course.”

Gladio stutters. “Oh, uh, I mean… that’s very nice of you, but I should probably get back to work.” He points a thumb over his shoulder as if to solidify his point. “Left it to the new guy for ten minutes, so who knows what kind of way it’s in at this point, right?”

Ignis nods good-naturedly, already reaching for a takeout bag and a pair of tongs. “Absolutely. I appreciate the visit, in that case, given the apparent state of affairs.” He picks out an assortment of colored macarons as he speaks, baked fresh that morning and still pristine in the display case. “So, a token. We hope to see you around more often.”

He crisply folds the takeout bag and holds it out to Gladio, who stares at it, somewhat dumbfounded. It looks a bit silly, small and dainty in his grip, and he mumbles his thanks, throwing a wave over his shoulder like it's a second thought. They watch him pause as he mechanically checks the road for passing cars.

Noctis waits until he’s across the road to let out the wheeze he’d been holding in his chest, and Ignis grins like he’d just committed murder. “Ignis Scientia!” Noct cackles, doubled over against the display case, “No holds barred! Did no one ever teach you to pull your punches?”

“I think I made quite the impression, don’t you?” Ignis hooks an arm around his shoulders, still shaking with the effort of not delighting in Ignis’s viciousness in the moment. “New kids on the block, indeed.”

“Remind me to never make you actually mad,” Noct shakes out, the last of his bubbling laughter leaving him. “I’m gonna hear all about that from Prompto.”

“Oh, please keep me informed.” Ignis tells him. “I’m dying to know the details.”

* * *

 

The way Gladio approaches him is _murderous_.

“I am _never_ ,” Gladio growls, finger jabbed into Prompto's collarbone hard enough to bruise, “taking your advice _ever again_.”

“About what?” Prompto squeaks, hands up by his head in complete submission, “The neck tattoo thing? Or investing in leather pants, which is it?”

Gladio grits his teeth. “Go over there, Gladio! Introduce yourself!” He mocks Prompto’s voice, still clasping the stupid little takeout bag in his grasp like he could will it to combust with his fist, “Make a friend!”

Prompto winces. “Oh, right, that thing.”

“Ignis Scientia,” Gladio barks, pointing out the window, “ain’t no friend of mine and he sure as hell ain’t gonna get the best of me!” He registers that he’s still holding the small white bag, and he thrusts it into Prompto’s chest, makes him stumble as he tries to catch it.

Prompto gasps when he sees the macarons inside, and he fishes out a pastel green one, eyes sparkling. “So, wait, you’re telling me this guy pissed you off so bad that you bought some of his food?”

Gladio scoffs as Prompto takes a bite. “As if I’d pay for that garbage.” Prompto’s eyes practically roll back into his head, and he groans.

“Noct was totally right, though,” he says, popping the rest of it in his mouth and peering back into the bag. “So I can have these, you’re saying?”

It’s against his better instincts, every nerve inside of him that’s screaming to not even give the guy’s dumb pastries the time of day, but he grabs the bag back with a terse, “Gimme that,” and pulls out a pink macaron, popping the whole thing in his mouth at once.

He chews slowly, glaring daggers across the street at Ebony’s pretty off-white and tan finish, and Prompto watches him like he’s due to sprout a second head at any second. The more the flavor develops in his mouth, the freshness of the raspberry and the understated notes of almond, the more it fuels his desire to see Ignis’s storefront plastered with garish red FOR SALE signs.

“I fucking hate him,” Gladio hisses, and Prompto plucks the bag from his hand.

“Yeah, cool,” he says, and dives back in for round two, “that’s real swell, buddy.”

* * *

 

It seems, pretty definitively, that what had been a slow, deliberate simmer between Houses Insomnia and Ebony has boiled over into a full-blown, battle-for-the-ages rivalry, Gladio spearheading the home field advantage and Ignis sporting the charm of the underdog. At school, the community bulletin board that had read _Recommend a coffee shop!_ and was mostly filled with endorsements for Insomnia now stands as a cluttered battlefield between the Insomnia loyal and advocates for Ebony.

Said bulletin board has been, understandably, supplemented by a two-column bar chart, labeled _Insomnia_ and _Ebony_ on either side. There are complimentary stickers hanging in a ream beside it, used to cast a more easily organized and legible vote.

Prompto stops in front of it with Noctis as they head off campus for the day. Noct has the day off, but Prompto has a shift to show up for, and he vaguely entertains the idea of asking Gladio to switch his schedule so it can better reflect Noctis’s free time.

On the bar chart, Insomnia still has a noticeable lead over Ebony, but only by a small margin. Prompto pulls off a sticker and lays it flat under the _Ebony_ column. “Insomnia’s great and everything,” he says at the questioning look Noct sends him, “but my good friend Noct works at Ebony, so it’s got a bit of an edge in my book.”

Noctis shakes his head, ducking away to try and hide his grin, but Prompto catches it. “That’s dumb,” he says. “I love Ignis’s food as much as the next guy, but that’s _way_ dumb.”

Prompto shrugs. Sure, it was dumb, but also _hell yeah_ , it was worth it to see Noct smile like that. “So what about you?” He asks as Noctis peels off a sticker of his own. “You gonna throw your lot in with the defending champion, or the scrappy challenger?”

Noct fiddles with his sticker for a minute or two, brows drawn together as he considers his options. “I’m sure you got an earful after the stunt Ignis pulled a few days ago.”

Yeah, an earful’s one way to put it. Gladio had needed to temper his fury temporarily to focus on serving customers and getting Insomnia’s affairs squared away for the day, but once the front door had been locked and they were working to prep for the next morning, it had all rushed out of him like a tsunami. Pent-up daydreams and musings about what an _asshole_ Ignis Scientia was, how _dumb_ he looked in his stupid cardigan, how ridiculously _sweet_ his pastries were, and Prompto had been on the receiving end of the whole episode.

“And you know what’s worse?” Gladio had snapped, pausing in his beautifully detailed chalk drawing of a teddy bear for the honey latte he wanted to showcase the next morning. “He made _me_ look like the jerk! As if I wasn’t the one who went over there and tried to make a good impression. I was the one who ended up looking like an idiot!”

“That’s a cute bear.” Prompto had tried to derail him.

“Yeah, it’s fucking cute.” Gladio growled in response, returning to add the finishing touches to his artwork. “It’s cute and I hope he sees it and realizes that I’m leaps and bounds ahead of him as a barista. Look at this, Prompto, it's even got little bees around it.”

He’s staring at the bulletin board like a deer in headlights, and Noct is watching him with a tinge of concern on his face. He shakes his head to try and bring himself back. “Well, you know. An earful probably wouldn’t have lasted an hour after closing.”

Noct chuckles. “Ignis couldn’t have been happier with himself. He’s just, I don’t know. He’s _like that_ sometimes, but he’s a really sweet guy. He can just get carried away.”

Prompto watches him, and there’s an odd softness in the way he speaks, like his appreciation for others is something he holds very dear to him. It’s not that Noctis is an unemotional or broody guy—in fact, it’s pretty much the exact opposite. It’s just that he expresses it so tenderly that the untrained eye wouldn’t be able to catch it.

He wonders if Noct has ever talked about him that way.

He’s broken out of his thought process when Noct gently presses his sticker under the _Insomnia_ column and gives it a final pat for good measure. Prompto finds his words caught in his throat, but Noctis takes the lead and says, “You’re gonna be late for work, dude, doesn’t Gladio hate that?”

When he checks his phone, it reads 2:53, and he nearly bites his tongue clean in half but he can’t help grinning when he says, “See ya, Noct!” He makes off across the campus courtyard as fast as his legs can carry him, and even if Gladio chews him out for being late, there isn’t a thing that can put a damper on his spirit now.

* * *

 

Three days out of the week, Ignis closes up Ebony alone.

It’s not Noctis’s fault that he can’t come in to work every day, and Ignis hadn’t been expecting him to even when he hired him. He’s got more pertinent obligations at school and with his debatably overbearing home life, and Ignis isn’t a slave driver. Noctis was his friend before he was his assistant.

Therein the problem lies, however, when there’s no one to run errands for him. It’d be irresponsible to wait until the next day for Noctis to deliver Gladio’s incorrectly delivered mail to him, but there’s really nothing he’d rather do less.

He double and triple checks the register, puts way more energy into cleaning the front display case than is needed, and even goes as far as to line up and measure out the ingredients he’ll need for baking the next morning. The word “stalling” lights in the back of his mind like a brand, but he tries to push it away, to soothe it over by mentally reciting his recipes like a mantra. _Espresso, cinnamon, steamed milk, mint for Gladio—garnish, what? Garnish._

Ignis sighs, sliding his glasses off to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He’s not the type to second guess himself, so not for a minute does he entertain the idea that perhaps he’d been too harsh. All’s fair in business, in his book, it’s just he hadn’t expecting to have to perform a rather banal and neighborly duty on Gladio’s behalf less than a week later. Ignis feels like he’s trudging through quicksand as he locks Ebony’s door behind him, resisting the urge to go back inside and _make sure_ that all the lights are off.

He turns, instead, to face Insomnia, and mutters to himself, “You made this bed, now you’ll lie in it.”

Insomnia may open later than Ebony, but that’s because it stays open later, as well. The sun’s beginning to set over the horizon, and the locals are mingling within the dimmed corners of Insomnia, its persona as a café tossed aside like a shawl, fully inhabiting its new skin as a bar. It’s truthfully a fascinating metamorphosis, and one that he’d compliment Gladio on achieving, if he had any mind to compliment him at all.

And, speak of the devil, there he is, entertaining a string of customers with an flashy tin shaking trick that involves a lot of tossing on his part and squealing on the audience’s. He’s stripped down to a tank top, threadbare and straining in choice places, and his tattoos appear to be a deep black in the low lighting, swirls and angles that swoop against his skin. He seems so at ease with his motions, his confidence as a performer so fluid, and he comes together as just a truly solid package, the strong line of his nose, the thoughtless tug of his smile, the muscles of his arms well accentuated.

Honestly, he looks ridiculous.

There’s a low smattering of applause as the group turns to one another to enjoy their drinks. Ignis spots Gladio’s assistant not too far from him—what was his name again?—and he’s tempted to shove the mail his way and be done with it, but he’s already calling for Gladio’s attention, although it’s barely needed.

Gladio locks eyes with him from across the bar and his body language immediately changes.

The hunch of his shoulders curls inward, defensive and wary, and the smile melts off his face, his brows falling to shadow his eyes. They’re a natural amber color, something that Ignis isn’t sure if he’s ever seen, but he didn’t come to be intimidated or shown hostility. All he wants is to deliver some mail.

“Impressive,” he says, hoping it’ll lighten the atmosphere, even a little. To Gladio’s left, Prompto (that’s his name, _Prompto_ ) watches the two of them like they’re a pair of wild animals, poised to shred each other to pieces. “Flair as a bartender and a barista. No wonder Insomnia enjoys its reputation.”

“Well, you know.” Gladio answers curtly. “Can I help you with something?”

No room for niceties, then. Ignis sighs and brandishes the small bundle of mail in his hand. “Incorrectly delivered to my doorstep. You were still open when I closed up shop, so I thought I’d forward it along personally.”

Gladio takes it from his hands, and at the very least, he doesn’t grab it. “Gracious,” he mutters, giving each a cursory glance as he flips through the pack. It’s an uncomfortable second or two before he looks up to see Ignis still standing there. “Thanks. Did you need something else?”

He winces inwardly, but that was deserved. He’d done his fair share of needling, it only makes sense that it’d be returned in enemy territory. “No, I suppose not. Have a nice—”

“Can we make you a drink or something?” Prompto butts in so brazenly that it makes Gladio jump. Ignis becomes aware that his mouth is still open, situated to finish his sentence, and he recomposes himself. “For the mail, that is. And, and the macarons! Those were _so good_.”

“ _Prompto_.” Gladio warns, but the blonde continues on unabated.

“Gladio makes a _killer_ highball, right?” He elbows Gladio’s side, and Ignis briefly admires his courage, given the way Gladio is glowering at him. “Or, you know, we have beer too, if that’s not your style. Or, like. Water? Do you like water?”

“Prompto, I swear, I’m gonna—”

“I’ll pass on the cocktails, I think, but,” Ignis says, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth and too tempted to pass up the opportunity, “I wouldn’t mind scotch, if you’ve got it.”

Gladio seems stunned, and Prompto’s rocking on the balls of his feet, too young and earnest to mask his enthusiasm. Gladio drops his shoulders and turns his attention to the many bottles lined up behind the bar.

“How do you want it?”

“Neat, if you would,” Ignis replies, and takes a seat.

Prompto practically drapes himself across the bar in front of him, eyes gleaming with something that looks suspiciously like victory. “Do you make those macarons every day? Noct told me all about them, but like, _dude_. Out of this world, totally.”

“Every morning, yes.” He deftly catches the glass Gladio slides his way and lifts it to inspect the golden liquid inside. “I like for them to be as fresh as possible, and I like baking, so it’s a nice little morning routine.”

Prompto jolts like he’s suddenly remembered something extremely important. “Wait! I’m the only one who hasn’t met you yet, actually!” He shoves his hand out to Ignis. “Prompto, I’m the one who’s been hanging out with Noctis.”

Ignis foregoes the sip he was about to take to return the handshake. “Yes, he told me. You’re a photographer?”

A wave of sheepishness seems to overtake him and he chuckles unevenly. “Uh, yeah, that’s me. He mentioned that? I mean, I talk about it a lot, I guess, but…” He trails off, his eyes subconsciously following the line of the room, and Ignis mirrors his gaze. There are photos of the town pinned up along Insomnia’s interior, and what appears to be their regular customers. There are quite a few artistically framed nature shots, sunlight streaming through trees and bodies of water. There’s even a handful of Noctis.

Ignis takes another sip of his drink. “You’re quite talented.”

As expected, he perks up like a puppy. “You think?”

“Prompto, there’s people at the door.” Gladio huffs, wiping down a glass hard enough that Ignis fears it’ll shatter. Prompto scrambles to round the bar, walking up to the party to offer them one of Insomnias few open tables, and Ignis finds himself alone with nothing but a glass of scotch to defend himself against Gladio’s distaste.

“I’m glad to hear the pastries went over so well,” he says, clinging desperately for a line of conversation that won’t immediately incite his ire. “Let him know he can feel free to come in when we close, and I can send what extras we have your way.”

Gladio snorts humorlessly. “Man, you this generous with everyone or am I just special?” His tone is clipped and closed off, and it leaves a sour taste in Ignis’s mouth. “Yeah, I’ll tell him you’ve got a doggy bag waiting for him whenever he’s free enough to run errands.”

Ignis’s grip on his glass tightens. “So I imagine your regulars must return for the drinks, because it’s certainly not to see a stunning personality.”

“Were you expecting a song and a dance, or just for me lick your boots?”

“Oh, no, things are going generally the way I had expected.”

“That’s good,” Gladio leans in, a flame in his eyes that’s impossible to ignore. It makes Ignis’s stomach flip, the ferocity of it, and how it’s pointed directly at him, “‘cause I’m only this friendly to my favorites.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see people whispering underneath the din of evening chatter. The locals have begun to recognize him, the barista over at Ebony, and it must be a surprise to see him chatting in such close proximity to his rival at Insomnia. It becomes hazily apparent to him that this is no longer an interpersonal struggle, this is a _scene_.

Well, if it’s a scene they want, it’s a scene they’ll have.

He takes the last of his drink and downs it in one graceful motion, and he ignores the way it burns, using that instead to fuel the scowl that graces his face. He revels in a very small and petty delight, how Gladio’s eyebrows twitch with surprise. “We’ve made fast friends, then, Mr. Amicitia,” and he firmly places the glass back on the bar top-down, sweeping away from his barstool and toward Insomnia’s front door.

He doesn’t look back, but he feels the way Gladio’s eyes follow him, even from outside Insomnia’s windows.

   
  


“What the _hell_ did you say to him?” Prompto asks as he bounds back behind the bar. “Did you scare him off or something?”

Gladio stares at the glass on the bar, a small ring of liquid collecting around it from the last vestiges of scotch that had clung to the inside. He should be moving to wash it, to wipe the counter down, but he's strangely thunderstruck, embedded in place. Sure, he’d been openly aggressive, downright antagonistic, but he didn’t feel bad about that. No, this was something that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, too complex and multifaceted for him to comprehend.

The image replays itself in his mind, the long curve of Ignis’s fingers, the smooth line of his throat as he threw back the best of Gladio’s scotch, how it hadn’t occurred to him how green his eyes were until they were trying to bore holes through his head. _Mr. Amicitia_ hangs in the air like the hiss of a snake, and Gladio’s mind is stuck on each syllable, how his lips had formed around the word, _his_ name.

Prompto snaps his fingers. “Yo, ground control to Gladio. You still with me?”

He shakes his head, finally moving to pick up the glass and wipe up the perfect circle underneath it. “What a dick,” he says with enough finality that Prompto doesn’t push it any further. “What did that table want?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So what do I do about it?” Noct asks him.
> 
> “You know what I’m going to say to you, Noct.” Ignis replies without missing a beat.
> 
> Noctis closes his eyes, breathes out evenly through his nose. “Ignis, I hate talking to people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are timelines? I sure don't know.

Noctis spends most of his spring break at Ebony, either working or trying to stave off the boredom of not having anything to do when Ignis refuses to give him hours. The weather’s finally starting to warm up again, and it leaves Ebony smelling homey and wonderful, the scents of fresh ground coffee and just-baked desserts pleasantly clinging to the air.

Ignis won’t let him make drinks or serves customers while he’s not on the clock, but he almost gives Noct a heart attack when he nudges his feet off the table, his seat crashing down and shaking him from his snoozing.

“I said heads up.” Ignis says with no sympathy in his voice whatsoever. He sets down a colorful pack of chalk and a blackboard on the table in front of him. “Since you’re so stir crazy, I thought you’d relish an opportunity to be creative.”

Noctis stares at the blackboard and the chalk, and it takes him much too long to drag his eyes up across the street, falling on the display outside of Insomnia. “You got a sandwich board? Like over at Gladio’s?”

“It’s not a sandwich board.” Ignis tells him, matter of fact, and raps his knuckles against the Not Sandwich Board. “It’s one sided. Just a blackboard.”

Noctis blinks at him, completely baffled. “So the only difference is that it can’t stand up on its own.”

“And that it’s better than Insomnia’s.” Ignis crosses his arms. “Really, this shouldn’t be so difficult to grasp.”

“Ignis, you’re _copying him_.”

“As far as I’m aware, Gladiolus Amicitia has no claim to ownership over storefront displays _or_ blackboards.” The way he says _Gladilous Amicitia_ is like he’s trying to skin the words with his teeth. “But if you have better things to do, I’d be happy to set up the display myself. I thought I’d offer, is all.”

Ignis goes to move the offending evidence of mimicry, but Noctis sighs and brushes his hand away. “No, I’ll do it,” he says, and Ignis straightens up the way he does when he knows he’s won an argument. “If it comes back to bite you, though, I wasn’t involved.”

“That doesn’t sit well with the artist’s right to ownership, but if you insist.” Ignis pats him on the shoulder as he cracks open the brand new box of chalk. “I knew you’d come around, Noct.”

Noctis definitely isn’t as capable of an artist as Gladio, but he gets by with what Ignis tells him. The drawing is made all the harder by his mind wandering while he does it. It’s not that he’s worried that Gladio will cross the road just to throw a fit in Ignis’s face, pick up the blackboard and smash it through Ebony’s front window or something. It’s not even that he’s particularly _worried_ about anything, it’s more that he can tell that Ignis’s demeanor has changed, and he can’t quite place how.

He’s just as nice and agreeable to Noctis as he’s always been, but something about the name _Gladiolus Amicitia_ or any variation thereof suddenly feels like a plague upon the house (or the café, in this case.) Where Ignis’s desire to grind Gladio into the ground had been previously flippant, an afterthought, it seems his goal with Ebony now is to behave as the biggest business nuisance possible to Insomnia. Of course, in Ignis’s mind, that means improving his products and service at a rate so unmatchable that Ebony’s presence in the hearts and minds of the locals is almost omnipresent, and it seems to be the most divisive topic in town wherever Noctis goes.

_Oh, you go to Insomnia? Insomnia’s so last year! It’s all about Ebony now._

_Ebony’s such a wannabe! Insomnia’s a classic, you can never go wrong._

_Yeah, but have you seen the barista at Ebony? He’s so fashionable, and his accent is to die for._

_You can’t beat Insomnia’s barista! The tattoos and the muscles, he’s practically perfect_.

At the best of times, it’s mildly distressing, and at the worst of times, it makes Noctis never wanna go outside again.

He’s putting the finishing touches on a serviceable rendering of Ignis’s toasted lemon meringue cake, squinting at the display across the dining room every couple of seconds, when the door jingles open. He reminds himself to rein in his working instinct to greet whoever it is, but his eyes flit up anyway and his heart stutters for a minute. “Hey, what’s up, Prompto?”

Prompto always looks so happy to see him, and it serves to warm Noctis from the inside out, no matter what. He’s coming to the slow and slightly horrifying realization that he’s got it bad for the blonde, but he’s good enough at hiding it that he never has to address it unless it’s absolutely necessary.

“Hey, Noct!” He pulls out a chair to sit across from him, straddling it backwards, and Noctis briefly appreciates the way his light spring jacket tugs at the width of his shoulders. Prompto waves to Ignis behind the counter, who, despite not looking up and ostensibly not seeing him, waves back. “Hey Ignis!”

“Good to see you, Prompto,” Ignis calls back. “Noct, if Prompto needs anything, feel free to fetch it for him.”

“Ooh, my own personal barista,” Prompto says, and Noct nudges his foot under the table playfully. It seems to slowly sink in what’s on the table in front of him, and he clicks his tongue. “So, uh. Whatcha workin’ on?”

“A display sign. For the front of the store.” Noct says, voice deadpan and eyes locked on Prompto’s, willing with every inch of his soul for Prompto to share in his pain and disbelief. “You know, for the specials and stuff.”

Prompto pointedly doesn’t look out the window at Insomnia.

“Well, that’s a fun idea,” he says, the lie draped heavily over his tone.

“Isn’t it?”

“Alright, enough.” Ignis snaps, stopping by their table on his usual patrol around the dining room. He hefts the blackboard away from Noctis, who puts his hands up peaceably. “I’m used to you doubting me, Noct, but if it’s Prompto too, then it must be serious.”

“I’m nothing but good to you,” Noctis objects.

“Yes, say that to me again when you stop deliberately buying me birthday cards with the wrong age printed on them.”

Noctis leans forward to Prompto. “It doesn’t stop being funny, I’ve been doing it since he was fifteen.”

“Nine years is surely not enough time for a joke to overstay its welcome,” Ignis quips, wiping down the blackboard so that he can promptly store it in the back room and forget about it.

Prompto’s hiding his snickers behind his palm, and the way his nose crinkles up with it is something Noctis has been making a point to notice lately. Prompto told him once that he’s sort of self-conscious about laughing because it draws attention to his freckles, and he’s right, but Noct doesn’t think that’s a bad thing at all.

Prompto grabs Noctis’s wrist and gives it a bit of a wiggle. “I came by ‘cause you said Ignis was being super boring—”

“Not what I said!” Noctis throws behind the counter.

“Oh, sure, I believe you!” Ignis hollers back.

“—and Gladio’s training a new assistant.” He’s practically buzzing with excitement at the news, and he’s still retained that habit of getting very quiet and conspiratorial about things that excite him. “I came to see if you wanted to come meet her! She’s nice, and super funny.”

Noctis’s looks up to the ceiling as he makes a show of weighing his options, and he can practically feel the whine Prompto’s holding in vibrate through the air like the sizzle of a snare drum. He ends up looking to the counter again. “Would it break your heart if I abandoned you?”

Ignis presses a hand to his chest. “Against all odds, I think I’ll survive.”

Prompto practically drags him out of Ebony’s front door, but he still makes a point to call goodbye to Ignis, because he’s Ignis, and he’s cool and deserves that much.

* * *

 

Noctis tries, really, he does, to quell the ache in his chest when he sees Prompto all but drape himself over Gladio’s new assistant-in-training.

“Howdy!” She says, waving her fingers at him. Her dirty blonde curls bounce just below her jawline, and her skin’s about as sun-kissed as can be. “The name’s Cindy. Prompto’s gone on and on all about you, y’know.”

Prompto flushes, and Noctis normally finds it utterly heart-stopping, but now he’s distracted with wondering if it’s for him or this very pretty, very nice girl. “Hey, come on, I’ve mentioned him, like, a couple times.” Prompto's head falls against Cindy's back, hiding his embarrassment, and Cindy seems hardly bothered by it. Noct, on the other hand, is only slightly bothered.

Cindy twists and taps his nose. “Oh, hush!” Noctis very briefly envies her physical comfort with him, and he thinks back to all the time he’s spent letting Prompto touch him—his arms, his shoulders, his fingers through his hair—and he’s never thought to return the gesture. Cindy flashes him a smile brighter than a set of high beams. “I ain’t never seen a boy run his mouth so much, have you?”

“Can’t say that I have.” He likes that about Prompto, though. He wouldn’t tease him about it.

Prompto droops like a dog stuck in the rain. “Noct, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“He’s got a good head on his shoulders, is all.” Cindy winks, and Noctis _likes_ her, objectively, can’t find anything wrong with her, but still can’t help the weird low feeling in his stomach. Prompto had been right, she’s nice, and funny, and pretty, and pretty, and _pretty_ , and Noctis can’t particularly see it but who’s to say that Prompto can’t? Prompto's grin is dopey when he looks at her, and it makes some hard-to-identify part of Noctis itch.

“If you two are done shooting the shit, I gotta get back to showing Cindy how to work the register,” Gladio mumbles as he floats by them, unstacking chairs as he gets ready to open. He almost does a double take when he sees Noctis, and for a minute, Noct fears for his life. He’s pretty sure Gladio wouldn’t blink twice at kicking him out based solely on how much he wants to throw Ignis off a cliff.

Well, at least the street goes both ways.

But Gladio nods at him. “Hey, Noct. You taking a break?”

“Not on shift.” Valiantly, he keeps his voice from shaking.

Gladio hums. “That’s good. Gotta get away from all the shitty attitudes and pretentious accents sometimes.”

Noct laughs weakly, but he doesn’t respond, either, so Gladio leaves him alone.

Cindy follows Gladio behind the counter, perky and eager to return to her training, and Prompto collapses into one of the seats Gladio had pulled down. Noctis feels awkward in a blinding flash of clarity, not sure if he should sit or not, and Prompto seems kind of preoccupied with watching Gladio and Cindy chatter back and forth about counting the cash drawer at night and how to use the card reader.

He becomes acutely aware that he wants to be in Ignis’s break room, playing games on his phone and not speaking to anyone, because he knows Ignis would wordlessly stroll through with something that didn’t _need_ to be put in the break room at that very moment, but also a red velvet latte, and he’d leave it on the table by the couch Noct would be lounging on. He wouldn’t pick it up to start blowing on the steaming foam until Ignis had left, and they’d both be okay with that.

Prompto’s eyes finally tear back to him, and his expression is open, curious. “You wanna sit down, dude?” He gestures grandly to all the empty chairs around them. “There’s plenty of options.”

It’s probably childish, this abrupt desire to escape, and to act on it even more so, but he shrugs and says, “I actually should probably get going. My dad said he needed to talk to me about something, and I’m already pretty late, I think.”

He doesn’t miss how Prompto deflates, even if by a fraction. He’s been trying to mask his emotions more, maybe in an effort to be more like Noctis, but he’s predictably terrible at it. “Oh, yeah, I get it. I’ll be free for a couple hours, so if you finish up with your dad, shoot me a text?”

Noct nods, “Yeah, I will,” although he’s almost certain he won’t, more inclined to show up to Ignis’s apartment unannounced and spend the night watching dumb TV movies with him. “It was nice to meet you, Cindy.”

“Oh, you too, sweetheart!” Cindy waves, her bracelets tinkling together, a pretty bell-like note.

“See you around, Noct.” Gladio says, too, which is even harder to comprehend, and he decides not to try as he beats a quick retreat out of Insomnia, down the street, away, away, away, unsure and angry at himself and wanting to curl up and sleep.

* * *

 

So, spring break ends up acting as a weird calm before a storm, like a too-fuzzy liminal period where things don’t fall into place quite right, or they do, but a little to the left. Noct nags for more hours, and Ignis pushes back mostly for show, but knowingly, he relents, and Noct is thankful for that. It means less time spent thinking about Cindy, who’s becoming a well-known staple of Insomnia faster than anyone could have predicted. It seems obvious to him, and he likes her, he really does. He just doesn’t like how he gets around her and Prompto, doesn’t feel it’s fair to either of them.

Something swipes in front of his face silently, and he blinks when he realizes he’s got whipped cream on his nose. Beside him, Ignis is staring at him, the right blend of concern and distance on his face that lets Noctis know he can open up, but doesn’t have to. “I like to pride myself in being familiar with your dazed spells, but this is getting rather absurd,” Ignis says, and he turns to wash off the whisk he’d been using to stir the whipped cream in the sink.

Noctis sighs, and he swipes the cream off his nose with his thumb. “You’re telling me,” he says, and licks the pad of his thumb. “You know all those times you told me I was being dumb?”

“Not necessarily in those terms, but yes,” Ignis replies, setting the whisk out to dry.

“Well, this is me telling you.” It makes Ignis furrow his brow.

“You’re telling me I’m being dumb?”

“No, no,” he could _never_ , not unless he had a desire for a swift and painless death, “I’m telling you that I’m being dumb.”

“Oh, good, so that saves me the work.” Ignis starts spooning tiny dollops of whipped cream onto cups of chocolate mousse laid out in front of them, and Noctis figures he should probably start doing the same if he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ignis’s blunt sarcasm. “If you don’t mind elaborating?”

Noctis tries to lose himself in the repetitive motions of getting the cups of mousse all creamed up, because thinking too hard about this is only gonna make it more difficult to articulate. “The new assistant at Insomnia, you know, her name is Cindy.”

Ignis clicks his tongue. “Quite the topic of conversation amongst our feuding communities, if I’m not mistaken. You can be a bit more liberal with your cream, too, I’ll make more if we run out.”

“Yeah, well,” but he struggles with forming the words. This always happens; talking to Ignis in the moment is like pulling teeth, but it never fails to make him feel better and reevaluate his positions. He’s like the world’s most disgusting, most effective medicine. Ignis doesn’t push him, though, just patiently gives him the time he needs. “Something about hanging out with her and Prompto is… weird. She’s nice, there’s nothing wrong with her, but I think he's into her and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Ignis carefully flips the tray they’re working on so that they don’t have to reach so far, and he says, “Ah,” because of course he would, he’s Ignis. “From what I’ve learned of him, both through you and through interacting with him myself, Prompto has a rather impeccable ability to make you feel like you’re the single most important person in the room.”

Noct pauses, his spoon subconsciously dipping back into the whipped cream to scoop more out. “Yeah, I guess he does, doesn’t he?” He’d never thought to put those words to it, but it’s… pretty much exactly the sensation. He’s not sure if he feels guilty for never noticing it before.

“Not quite that much,” Ignis mutters, using his finger to lob off the top half of what’s on Noctis’s spoon. “He may very well like her, but maybe you’re misunderstanding things. You’re so used to having his undivided attention that watching him split it was a foreign notion to you.”

“So what do I do about it?” Noct asks him.

“You know what I’m going to say to you, Noct.” Ignis replies without missing a beat.

Noctis closes his eyes, breathes out evenly through his nose. “Ignis, I hate talking to people.”

“I know, but it’s the single surefire way to solving most of life’s interpersonal conflicts.”

Ignis tops off the last little cup of mousse and drops his spoon back into the bowl, wiping his hands on his apron. “Don’t they look nice? Small and unassuming. Not brutish in any way.”

“Do you think I’m being obvious about it?” Noctis holds the door of the industrial refrigerator open while Ignis slides them in to set, destined to hit the display case in about an hour when they open.

“You? No, I was none the wiser until this very conversation.” He tries to will away the flush that starts creeping up his neck at that. “But Prompto’s about as subtle as a derailed freight train.”

“What?” Noct blinks.

Ignis clips the door to the fridge closed before turning to face him, hands on his hips and sporting his very best I’m Your Friend But You Sure Are Dumb face. “Noct, he’s over the moon for you. I don’t claim to know much about Cindy or their relationship, but I’d say a bet towards you is about as safe as gambling gets.”

Noctis knows that he has a bad habit of teasing Ignis, and sometimes when it’s not entirely appropriate to do so, but the cool thing about their friendship, unbalanced as it sounds, is Ignis never seems to make that mistake. There’s a calm severity to his words that, unexpectedly, doesn’t make Noct’s heart race or skip a beat when Prompto flashes through his mind, the way he laughs or the freckles on his arms. It’s a deep stillness. An unfamiliar reassurance.

Ignis unties his apron and throws it to him. “Hang that up, would you? I’ve got to start prepping the front, we’re already behind schedule.”

He holds Ignis’s balled up apron in his hands, glued to the floor and, against all evidence to the contrary, serene. And he nods, even though Ignis can’t see it, because it’s not really meant for Ignis, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto registers in a hyper-real glimpse of lucidity that there’s nothing he wants to do more in this moment, nothing he’s ever wanted to do more in his _life_ , than go on a drive with Noct to see some lights. And Noct _asked_. How could he ever say no?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like a happy ending in the middle to supplement the one that's also at the end, because my soul is extremely sensitive, and all I want is to have a good time.

The worst thing about the university’s spring break, Ignis has decided, is that it means more people want to enjoy the nice weather of outdoor seating. It’s not really inconvenient for him, but it’s a sentiment that’s similarly shared over at Insomnia, so not only is he outside more often, but so is Gladio.

They have two lanes of traffic separating them, but he still can’t ignore the peculiar tension whenever they end up tending to their customers at the same time. It’s like Gladio’s trying to insinuate himself into Ignis’s space, all the better to grate on his nerves and make him feel on edge. He betrays none of this to his customers, of course, just as congenial and mannerly as ever, and the women still blush when he serves them, the men still give him broad smiles.

But Gladio’s laugh will boom across the street, or he’ll shout a greeting to someone as they turn the corner, and Ignis will unfortunately be made aware of his general existence again, and it’s making him surly.

The day’s mild, so Gladio’s got a faded red flannel draped over his wide shoulders, a raggedy old thing that looks like it’s been through the wash one too many times. The sleeves are cuffed below his elbows, and the only hint of his tattoos is what reaches up his collarbones, his skin already bronzed from being out in the sun as of late. Ignis doesn’t stare, because he understands cruel irony and how it would very much like to make a fool of him, but he does steal glances to fan the flames of his paltry annoyance.

He almost doesn’t notice the young mother who roams into his front terrace. Almost, because he’s much too good at his job to have actually not noticed.

“Hi,” she says, and behind her, a little girl is using her skirt to hide her face, “sorry, you must be busy, but you wouldn’t happen to have any outdoor seating, would you?”

“Right this way.” He gestures to a small table, tucked into a shadier corner of the terrace, and her face melts in relief.

She bends a bit to address the girl still curled up in her clothing, “That’s good news, isn’t it, sweetie?” She looks back up to Ignis and asks, “Are you the one who makes those pink macarons? I got her some last week and she hasn’t been able to stop talking about them.”

“Guilty as charged.” He says with a charming tilt of his shoulder. Too tempted to resist, he kneels down so that he’s eye level with the girl, and she stares at him with the kind of wide, unabashed wonder that it seems only children can achieve in their expressions. “I made some fresh just this morning. They’re extra pink today.”

Her little intake of breath is infinitely delightful. “Like really, really pink?” She asks.

Ignis winks at her. “The pinkest.”

The girl bursts into a flurry of giggling and reaching up to her mother, babbling about the sweet pink things and how excited she is, and the woman shares a look of warm gratitude with him as he shows them to their seats.

He moves to head back inside only to hear what sounds like a crashing set of bells, and across the street, he eyes Insomnia’s front door. Gladio’s not out front anymore, although he had been last Ignis checked, and he wonders, idly, what kind of wind could have made their door rattle like that.

But he decides, ultimately, that it’s none of his concern, and he goes back into Ebony to fetch the pink macarons that he’d promised were extra, extra pink.

* * *

 

Prompto wanders through Insomnia’s front door, staring at his recently dry text conversations with Noct and trying to come up with the right way to word _Are you mad at me?_ and unfortunately runs into a very grumpy, very irritable Gladio.

He’s scowling out the front window, as he’s wont to do nowadays.

“Hey, chief,” Prompto greets him, reaching up on his tiptoes to try and catch his gaze but giving up when he realizes what a fruitless endeavor it is, with the full ten inches of height separating them, “testing out the new eye lasers or are you just super into Ignis’s flowerboxes?”

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Gladio mutters lowly, and Prompto’s not sure it’s a question he’s supposed to answer or not even try to touch with a ten foot pole. He yelps when Gladio grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around, effectively directing his attention across the street. “ _Look_. Look at how smug he is. He thinks he’s hot shit.”

Ignis, for all intents and purposes, doesn’t look like he thinks he’s hot shit, but then again Prompto’s not entirely sure what he would be looking for in that department. He’s presenting what appears to be a box of some dessert to a woman and her daughter, and the girl is clapping her little hands together, and if anything, Prompto figures it should speak to Ignis’s quiet likability.

He’d never say that, though, not in front of Gladio. He’d like to graduate college before he dies.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific there, buddy,” Prompto hazards, and boy, Gladio’s grip on his shoulders is sure getting _tight_.

“It’s the whole thing!” Gladio points as if Prompto isn’t sure where to look. “The whole, ‘Oh, I’m so nice to young mothers will little girls’ act. They don’t even know he’s an insufferable, exhausting, unattractive _asshole_.”

“What was that last one?” Prompto asks, one eyebrow shooting up into his hairline.

Gladio lets go of his shoulders and Prompto at last has the room to turn around and face him. His expression is the most unreadable Prompto’s ever seen it; yeah, there’s the telltale veneer of irrational hatred and unbridled distaste for another human being, but there’s something swimming way, _way_ underneath it, too, like how scary fish swim in the crazy dark parts of the ocean. He catches it in the most fleeting motions of Gladio’s face, the press of his lips, the angle of his eyebrows, how his breath seems to catch right before he launches into another rant.

“With his dumb shirt,” Gladio grinds out, “and his stupid hair. And his... his glasses. I dunno, why's he got people falling all over him like that?”

Prompto’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and he whips his head back around to check again. If anything, Ignis is sort of dressed down from how he normally looks. He’s got a soft blue button up on, the tails of it left to hang below his belt. The sleeves are rolled up and the top one or two buttons are undone, but aside from that, it’s rather casual for Ignis’s tastes. "Falling all over him" seems a tad generous on the part of Ignis's customers, and it's not as if Gladio doesn't have his own fair share of fans.

“Like what is that, denim?” Gladio asks.

“I think it’s called chambray.” Prompto supplies. “Right, Cindy? Does that sound right?”

“Honey, y’all are askin’ the wrong gal.” Cindy responds from the register.

“Dude, I know this is totally unlikely and way out of the question,” Prompto starts, “but is it possible that you and Ignis just got off on the wrong foot? And he’s, you know, a pretty good guy after all?”

He doesn’t get shouted down for it immediately, but Gladio’s eyes narrow and he still looks like he’s sucking on a lemon, so it’s clearly not a notion that’s ready to take root yet. Across the street, Ebony’s door tinkles open and Noctis backs out, holding two frothy iced coffees for a pair of girls sitting by Ignis’s hydrangeas. Prompto’s throat tightens, and he watches how the girls titter and steal glances at Noct's back as he goes inside. There’s a shivery feeling that runs up and down Prompto's spine that he’s gotten used to lately, but just because he’s gotten used to it doesn’t mean it sucks any less.

Gladio’s hand on his shoulder scares him nearly half to death. “You see it, right?” Gladio asks him, and he suddenly decides he’s fed up with this whole conversation.

He pushes past Gladio hastily. “I’m gonna go wash up, my shift started like five minutes ago.”

If Gladio has any objections to his speedy retreat, he doesn’t vocalize them, and Prompto locks himself in Insomnia’s tiny bathroom, hands braced against the porcelain of the sink. He washes up and then splashes cold water on his face, trying to will himself back to a semblance of a good customer service mood. It’s hard, though, knowing Noct hasn’t been giving him much more than one word answers and nervous excuses, wondering if he did something wrong but not confident enough at all to ask about it. Maybe Noct found someone new to occupy his time, or he finally got tired of Prompto’s stupid antics, the way he can’t keep his hands to himself.

Maybe Noct could tell how bad this stupid crush is tearing away at him, and maybe it scared him off.

By the time he drags himself out of the bathroom, he’s in a better position to fake his typical cheeriness, and he swings in behind the bar ready to convince customers that, really, he doesn’t feel like he wants to die today.

Cindy stops him on his way there and gives him a firm flick to the forehead, and as if that isn’t bad enough, she takes the next immediate opportunity after he reels back to give him a second one.

“Cindy!” He tries to shield his forehead with his hand, the pain of betrayal stinging more than the mark that he's sure is on his forehead. “What was that for?” He takes a second to think, and then: “And why’d you do it twice?”

“Cause if I tried to pull that on Gladio he’d break my goddamn hand.” She’s got her hands on her hips, her cheeks puffed up with irritation. “You two are dumber than a pair of cement blocks, you know that?”

Prompto looks up at her from beneath the protection of his hand, flabbergasted. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Of all the dumb luck, a customer decides to butt in at that exact moment (as if they provide some kind of _service_ to be exchanged for _legal tender_ ) and Cindy completely shifts her attention to them, just as prepared to charm the pants off of a customer as she is every day. “Well, howdy, there! What can I getcha?”

Prompto wants to complain but if he interrupted her for some dumb personal stuff, he knows who’d realistically be getting the ugly end of Gladio’s current pattern of bad moods. So he pouts, and he turns to reorganize the packets of sweetener, which doesn’t _really_ need to be done but it’s not like he’s got anything better to do.

* * *

 

There’s a weird kind of sadness that settles in Prompto’s stomach as he scrolls through the pictures on his camera. He’s wrestling with himself, because now would probably be the time to call it quits and delete his pictures of Noct, but it’s like his finger gets frozen over the button and can’t move. So he keeps scrolling and feeling sorry for himself. There’s a shot of Noct and Ignis, working together on some extravagant pie creation Ignis had cooked up, and there’s one of Noct sitting in the campus courtyard, staring off into space.

There’s one of him laughing and trying to hide it behind a latte Prompto had brought him straight from Gladio.

There’s one of the light catching the strands of his hair at sunset.

He jumps so hard he nearly drops his camera when he hears someone knocking at his apartment door. Part of him hesitates, because the only person he’d invited over before had been Noct, so who else could possibly want his attention this late at night, or even know his address?

It takes him way too long to connect the dots, and there’s the knocking again, but this time he bolts to go answer it.

He opens it and breathes, “Noct. Hey, buddy.”

Noctis stands there with his hands balled up in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “Hey, Prompto. Sorry, I know it’s late and I probably should have texted or something—”

Prompto waves his hands wildly. “No, no, not at all!” His sense of self-consciousness hits him like a harpoon through the chest, and he reins in his hands, wringing them together instead. “Come on in, I don’t mind even a little.”

He steps aside, but Noctis doesn’t make any move to cross the threshold. Instead, he brings one hand up to rub his nose shyly, and Prompto kicks himself for thinking it’s cute. “I was, uh. I was actually wondering if you wanted to go on a drive with me. I get it if you’re busy, but there’s this great spot a couple blocks away where you can see all the lights in the next city over.” He shrugs, unable to make eye contact. “I mean, it’s dark out, but if anybody could make a shot out of it, it’s you.”

Prompto registers in a hyper-real glimpse of lucidity that there’s nothing he wants to do more in this moment, nothing he’s ever wanted to do more in his _life_ , than go on a drive with Noct to see some lights. And Noct _asked_. How could he ever say no?

“Let me grab my jacket,” Prompto stammers, willing with all his soul that Noct will still be there even if he dips back into his apartment quick, “and, uh, and my camera.”

When he gets back, Noct is still on his doorstep, and Prompto grins when he asks, “Ready?” And for every cosmic being that has ever loved him, Noct smiles back, and nods his head.

 

 

Prompto insists they take his car, because it’s shittier than the nice one that Noct’s dad gave him and he doesn’t mind getting mud on his tires if they’re gonna go off road. The drive is comfortably silent, Noct stopping him every once and a while to give him directions. Streetlights pass overhead, fleetingly bright before fading out again, and cool air glides in from where Prompto has the windows cracked.

Noct sits up as he directs him to a back road. “Kill the headlights,” he says, and Prompto doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re gonna love it.”

And he _does_ love it. It’s everything Noct said it would be, a horizon of glittering lights and navy blue sky. It’s tough to try and get any good pictures of it, but he messes around with the framing and makes a big show of enjoying it anyway, because this might be one of the nicest things Noct has ever taken the time to do for him.

He shared this. He shared this with Prompto and he feels like his lungs are gonna collapse.

They end up sitting on the hood of Prompto’s car, chatting like normal and laughing like normal and watching the blinking lights of planes flying by overhead. It seems all at once like a still capture, a moment in time that Prompto never wants to let go, because if Noct ever chooses to draw away again he can always return to this.

Noct eyes him nervously, and it makes Prompto sit up from where he’s half-reclined against the hood. “So, uh, how’s work been?”

What, that? Prompto remembers his weird exchange with Gladio and his even weirder scuffle with Cindy, and he sighs heavily. “I dunno, a little… different? Gladio’s taking this rivalry with Ignis thing _way_ too close to home, and Cindy seemed kinda annoyed with me the other day. They’re both acting off.”

Noct listens, his lips drawn in a delicate line. “How’s Cindy doing? Like with training and everything.”

Prompto shrugs. “You know, about as good as I did. Well, no, better than I did. She’s way better at the job than me already, but I’m sure Gladio’s just happy to have an extra set of hands.”

“So have you guys been hanging out a lot?”

Why’s he’s asking so much about Cindy, anyhow? The guy’s interacted with her only a handful of times and then decided to fall off the face of the planet. “Not particularly. Why?” It dawns on him, the _why_ part, and his stomach flops unhappily. “Did you… did you, like, want me to put a good word in? With her?”

Noct blinks. “What?”

“I’m a pretty good wingman.” Prompto tries to reassure him, although his heart feels like it’s trying to crush itself into small, inconsequential pieces to be better ignored and dealt with later. “I don’t have a ton of experience, I guess, but it doesn’t mean I couldn’t—”

The warmth of Noctis’s lips on his is what hits him first, a pleasant burst of sensations that starts with Noct sealing his mouth against Prompto’s and then, and then _moving_ , holy shit. There’s a hand at the side of his face and another one sliding up his abdomen and, _shit, have I even responded to this yet?_

That comes as a heavy and resounding no, because suddenly Noct pulls away, hand over his mouth and trembling slightly. “Uh. I should have asked, that was shitty of me.”

“Wait!” Prompto croaks, throwing caution to the wind and grabbing that hand Noct is trying to use to shield himself. His eyes are wide and disbelieving, so Prompto swallows and says, “Not shitty. Super cool. Really into it, love to do it again.”

Noct’s lips try to form words, but his brain seems to be failing him. “Um,” he says, in lieu of something cool and composed, like he normally is, “you’re not mad?”

Prompto makes a sound somewhere from deep in his chest, a frankly incredulous and shaky husk of a laugh, and that must be all the green light go ahead that Noct needs because he threads his fingers through Prompto’s hair and crushes their lips together again, and this time, Prompto responds in earnest.

Kissing Noct is so indescribably better than he had imagined it, because it’s _real_ and kind of slippery and their teeth clack together a few times, but it’s actually _happening_. Prompto’s hands fall to Noctis’s waist and he lets himself get pushed down against the surface of the hood, licking his way into Noct’s mouth to hear the way it makes his breathing stutter. Broken little sounds fall from his mouth and into Prompto’s and it’s _gorgeous_ and so _beyond_ and he swears six ways to Sunday that he could spend the rest of his life kissing Noctis if he didn’t have to, like, pay bills and shit.

It’s so good, but it’s not good enough to ignore that there’s something digging very hard into his shoulder blade, and he tries to pull away once, twice, three times, getting caught up in little chasing kisses and his own inability to resist before he can finally place a hand on Noct’s shoulder.

He’s breathing hard and his lips are red and shiny, and he looks down at Prompto with his pupils blown to cover the expanse of his irises. It’s a picture he drinks in greedily, saves in his mind so he can look back on it forever. “What? What’s wrong?”

Prompto’s smile is wobbly. “Uh, the. Um.” Wow, words just don’t feel like working today, huh? “Sorry, the wiper, it’s like… _shit_ , wow, it really hurts, you know my backseat is way big, right?”

Noctis comprehends his words in pieces, like he’s trying to listen through water, but eventually he gets the gist of it and nods, licking his lips. “Yeah, yeah, backseat, that’s a… good thinking.” He slides off the hood and pulls Prompto up with him, and the blonde groans when the pressure on his back is released.

Standing up, Noct can’t hold himself back from grabbing one kiss from him, tender and sweet and literally the _best_ , but all the kisses so far have been the best, so is he telling the truth or not? “Sorry, you’re probably gonna have a bruise.” Noct chuckles, hands drawn against Prompto’s chest.

“If we do this right, that shouldn’t be the only place I have bruises.” Prompto replies, and he means it as a joke, a good ol’ ha-ha, but Noct’s eyes go impossibly darker and his mouth parts obscenely, and never mind, _this_ is the picture he wants to save in his mind forever, or all of them, or just _Noct_ , he wants to have Noct forever.

“The backseat.” Noct says, tugging at him impatiently.

And Prompto follows with a lighthearted, “Yes, sir!” and when he presses Noct down against the leather of his shitty four-door, he knows, feels it in his skin, that this is a thing he can have.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is a man I hate_ , says Ignis, with absolute, definitive certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in this chapter is the break between the first and second writing sesh, but I forget exactly where, so it remains a mystery.

Several blocks away, within the confines of his own apartment, Ignis is in a bad mood.

He normally doesn’t fixate on things. He’s too efficient to need to, because if something catches his attention to that degree, he tends to know how to take care of it, but there’s really no way to _take care_ of his Gladiolus Amicitia repulsion. At least no way that’s legal.

And honestly, who does the guy think he is? With the deep vee of his shirt under his flannel, the barbaric way he barked and roared his laughter through the neighborhood, and yet, nice kids like Prompto and Cindy still had the wherewithal to stand him. Either college students were growing resilient to a degree more frightening than previously understood, or…

The sound he makes low in his throat is a strange cross between a growl and a groan. “What a beast,” is what drips from his mouth, all bile and bad taste and hungry, hungry spite.

It’s at that moment that he realizes he’s standing in his apartment in a pair of university sweatpants and holding a spatula, and why had he just said that? There’s no one around to hear him wax hateful about Gladiolus Amicitia, so who’s he talking to, the potted plants on his windowsill?

Well, maybe. Sure. That’s better than nothing.

He tends to his fry pan with a frown on his face, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he was frowning more than normal lately. He feels like this is a problem that only lives to escalate, to exacerbate, to get worse and worse and worse until actual physical harm befalls one of them, or _worse_ , property damage.

But still! It’d be so nice if it was Gladio and not him!

He’s going to make himself sick at this rate, and that’s exactly what the opposition wants, so that for sure can’t happen. And why’s he letting himself get so caught up, anyway? Sure, he might have a cutthroat streak, but even to him, this feels like taking it a bit too far. But he can’t stop this forward momentum, or the rage that pools in his gut every time he lays eyes on the man. A hot, low-lying, tingly kind of rage that gets his heart racing and leaves him lightheaded. The kind of anger that closes up your throat and makes your eyes water.

It’s a familiar sensation to practically anybody.

He’d entertained the thought, for only a minute or two, of extending an olive branch. Some way to call things off and start fresh. _Hi, I’m Ignis, and I’m your new neighbor_ , he recites in his head, _I enjoy baking and not engaging in blood feuds. To whom do I have the pleasure?_ It all works theoretically, is completely sound on paper.

But then he remembers the fire in Gladio’s eyes in the dim of the bar, the intensity of his gaze, the way it had made his stomach knot up and his nerves stand on end. The depths of those amber eyes, almost endless, fit to drown in. The way shadows had played against the features of his face.

 _This is a man I hate_ , says Ignis, with absolute, definitive certainty.

So, no treaties today, or tomorrow, for that matter. If it ate away at him, then so be it, but at the end of the day, Ignis would at least be able to say that he’d held out the longest, and more importantly, that he’d _won_.

* * *

 

Having to get back into the routine of going to _class_ and doing _homework_ is a huge bummer, as far as Noct is concerned, because he’d just been getting used to the end-of-spring-break routine of spending all day lounging around in bed with Prompto, doing a whole lot of literally nothing. He’d fallen into a habit lazing the days away with him, murmuring to one another and laughing and trading sweet, tiny kisses and being overall disgusting, but man, did it make his heart feel full to bursting or what?

And now, because life is cruel and school is even crueler, he has to make time for more than his shifts at Ebony. At least now when he drifts off, thinking about how he’d almost been late that morning, writhing in his sheets and moaning into Prompto’s mouth, he doesn’t have to deal with Ignis squinting at him, because he’s too smart not to know.

The kids at school are a different story altogether. Noctis isn't sure what he’d do if he met someone quite as perceptive as Ignis, cause he’s barely retaining his sanity with one person who can practically read his mind.

But things aren’t all bad, since he happens to get out of Microeconomic Welfare in Context (the worst, _the worst_ ) around the same time that Prompto wraps up Advanced Digital Photojournalism (slightly better?) which means that, at the very least, they can walk home together.

Prompto always seems dazed and elated when Noct threads their fingers together. He likes holding Prompto’s hand, too, but the best part of it is definitely the look on the blonde’s face, happiness crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “What are you looking at?” he asks, more to tease him than for actual lack of knowing.

Prompto swoops in, kisses him on the cheek. “Nothing, c’mon.” Noct lets himself get pulled along, just as much as he seems to be letting everything pull him along these days.

The community bulletin board following spring break is an absolute _mess_ , the feud between Insomnia’s and Ebony’s regulars escalating to a degree that it’s hard to tell where all the stickers in the middle of the chart are meant to be falling. Extra paper has been stapled to hang off the bottom of the board, and the voting stretches downward, at risk of brushing against the floor.

The sad, almost impossible to comprehend written endorsements next to it aren’t faring much better. There are a few choice additions, like a piece of scrap paper stapled in the in the top corner that reads I LOVE U CINDY @ INSOMNIA and a tiny, _tiny_ poll in the opposite corner asking _Who’s hotter?_ The tally marks under _Insomnia Guy_ and _Ebony Guy_ are pretty evenly matched.

Prompto hooks his chin over Noct’s shoulder to stare with him. “You think we’ll be torn apart by the horrors of war?”

“I’m bailing out way before it comes to that, hopefully.” Noct sighs. “I love Ignis, but I also love myself, you know?”

“Poor Gladio.” Prompto muses. “How would he ever get by without me to brighten his day?”

Speaking of Gladio, Insomnia’s lead against Ebony on the sticker poll seems to have pulled ahead a considerable amount, and Noct frowns. Sure, he thinks this whole A Tale of Two Cafés shtick is getting kind of stupid, but it’s always the losers that complain that not everything has to be a competition, isn’t it? But two of the stickers on the Insomnia side are sidled so close together that someone had elected to draw a penis over them, so he takes the slightest bit of solace in that.

Prompto tuts. “That’s definitely all for Cindy. I’m not typically the self-deprecating type, but things were pretty even when I was his only assistant, is all I’m saying.” His hair’s tickling against Noct’s neck and he’s trying really hard not to laugh or squirm. “Maybe you guys should think about it too?”

“Think about what?” Honestly, Noct had been zoning out, thinking more about how long Prompto’s eyelashes were than the dumb college coffee poll.

Prompto shrugs. “Hiring an assistant. I bet Ignis wouldn’t mind the help, and it might even out the odds a little bit.” His arms snake around Noct’s waist, burrowing his forehead into Noct’s shoulder and sighing. “Or Gladio and Ignis could peacefully coexist like ordinary human beings. But I think that might be permanently off the table.”

“‘Off the table’ is generous.” Noct laughs. “That implies it was ever on the table to begin with.”

But something about what he’d said is sticking to Noct and refusing to let go. He feels like Ignis hiring another assistant would somehow be the last straw for the great back of Gladiolus Amicitia, but he can’t really understand what’s telling him that. Where could they find somebody like Cindy? What kind of assistant would send the same message to Gladio that he’d sent to Ignis? Would it be another pretty girl, or another friendly face? Someone livelier than Noct?

He knows that there’s an idea trying to poke its way into his brain, but right now he’s way too distracted by how warm Prompto is against his back. _Who cares about Ignis’s dumb vendetta anyway?_ A small voice asks him. _I sure don’t. I just stick around for the free coffee and the tough love._

Prompto blows a puff of air behind his near and it makes him start. “What’s eating you?”

The idea splits him open like a crack of thunder. _What’s one way to get under Gladiolus Amicitia’s skin once and for all, break this stupid attrition and be done with it?_ He extricates himself from Prompto’s hold, already moving to pull out his phone.

“I think I have an idea,” he mumbles, and he gives Prompto a quick peck on the lips as he pulls up Ignis’s contact info. “I’ll call you after work, okay? I think I know how to get them to confront each other.”

Prompto pouts. “Man, I gotta stop running my mouth.”

That makes Noct smile, and he reaches up for one more, slightly longer kiss, and Prompto hums happily underneath it. “I _promise_ , trust me.” Pulling himself away sucks just as much as watching him go must be, but he’s got his shift at Ebony and this notion burrowing in his brain that won’t let go of him, so as he crosses the university’s courtyard, he dials Ignis’s number.

“Noct?” he answers, and the concern coloring his voice only makes sense because Noctis barely calls anyone. “What’s wrong, do you need me?”

Well, file that away in the Sweet Things Ignis Has Said Without Thinking box, which is not super extensive, but the quality definitely makes up for the quantity. “Hey, no, I’m fine. Sorry, I know I don’t normally call.” He can probably count the times he’s willingly called Ignis on one hand, and each time is more unique and strange than the last, like how he needed an escort to the hospital when he accidentally hooked a fishing lure through his earlobe, or when he was sick and his remote was on the other side of the apartment and Ignis wasn’t busy anyway, right? “Listen, I think you need to hire another assistant.”

Ignis takes a second to answer. “You called me for that? Listen, Noct, abridged pep talk, you make a fine assistant—”

“No, no, hear me out.” He cuts in. “I know how to stick it to Gladio.”

And the silence is all too telling. Noct can imagine Ignis pursing his lips as weighs that in his mind, finding it about as resistible as the instinct to breathe or blink. “Go on,” he eventually says.

He details his plan to Ignis as he waits for the lights at the crosswalk to change, and he decides, eventually, that jaywalking _probably_ won’t kill him and, really, he’s a lot better at talking when he’s walking anyway. As far as grand schemes are concerned, it’s not that convoluted, but it’s ruthless and right up Ignis’s alley, and he waits patiently for Ignis to either love it and finally heap the praise Noct deserves on him or throw it back in his face.

But he’s quiet. Then, “What did you say your favorite thing in the display case was? The profiteroles?” He sounds breathless.

Noct scrunches up his brow. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sending you home with a dozen at the end of the week. Your shift starts in ten minutes, hop to it.”

Ignis’s end of the line goes dead and Noct feels victory settle in his chest like a nice, warm blanket, and a good latte, and a box of profiteroles to be enjoyed at his leisure.

* * *

 

See, the thing is, Noct isn’t completely friendless at college. Sure, he and Prompto are practically attached at the hip, and he doesn’t mind hanging out with Cindy when he sees her either, but despite all evidence to the contrary, Noct actually has _one more_ friend.

At the beginning of his senior year as a college student, he’d been informed that he had a gen ed class unaccounted for, which was probably the most crushing and disappointing thing his adviser could have told him at their quarterly “Are You Fucking Up?” meeting. The good news was that he was a senior, and he got to pick his classes first, so he placed himself in Intro to Haikus and proceeded to doze off and write shitty poems for the entirety of the fall semester.

It was only mildly excruciating, but it was made less so by a freshman who had been late to the first class and sat next to him in the back. She’d smiled at him, her hair swept around her face and her cheeks pink, probably from running, and Noct had immediately invested himself in Wholesome Freshman Girl and the protection thereof. Nowadays, they still text and send each other stupid videos and get lunch from time to time.

As hard as it is to believe, Wholesome Freshman Girl enjoys his sometimes conversationally challenged and unassuming company, and he enjoys hers, as well. What’s more is that he has it on good authority that she’s looking for a job to line her wallet some. She’s a sweet girl, with a stellar, talkative way about her and an equally cute sense of style, and her name is Iris.

Iris Amicitia.

“I think I’d rather shave my own head than work for Gladdy.” She sighs and takes a sip of the milkshake she and Noct are sharing. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him to absolute pieces, but working for him? He’s self-disciplined to a fault, even when we’re home together for the holidays. I’m more of a,” she waves her hand in a vague and frankly inscrutable way, “I dunno, I go with the flow, I follow where the breeze takes me.”

She’s kind of weird, and Noct likes it a lot about her. “Has he been trying to get you to work with him?”

Iris slumps with relief and rests her chin against her hands on the table. “He was, but he backed off when he hired Cindy, lucky for me. I’m kind of starting to regret it though.” She pouts. “Knitting supplies are expensive, Noct.”

“I know.” He pats her elbow in a way that he hopes is comforting. “I have a proposition.”

She perks up immediately. “I’m already in, whatever it is.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “Iris, that’s a pretty dangerous practice.”

“Not when you’ve got a guy like Gladdy for an older brother.” She slides the milkshake aside to level her eyes, shining and unobstructed, with Noct’s. “Cut to the chase! I’m waiting to be propositioned here.”

“Ignis is looking for a new assistant at Ebony,” he tells her, and the way she wiggles a little in her seat bodes well for the whole proposition thing so far. “I already put in a good word for you, so if you’re interested, you can come in for training this weekend and start on Monday.”

The sound she makes is part squeal, part giggle, and she grabs his hands. “Noct, that’s amazing! Thank you so much! Is it a good gig? How are the tips? Is Ignis a nice boss?” Once she gets going, Noct finds it pretty useless to try and get a word in edgewise. “You know, I heard a couple of girls in class talking about him, everyone _loves_ his accent.”

Her smile is infectious, he certainly can’t deny that. “Yeah, I have a lot of fun with it. I think you’ll like Ignis a lot, he’s a cool guy.” He shrugs. “And if he’s not, I’ll deal with it, so you’ve got security.”

Noctis doesn’t think it’d ever come down to defending against Ignis on Iris’s behalf, but if it does, he’s not totally confident that he’d be the right person for the job, but he can’t think of anybody better. Like, maybe an extremely apathetic cat, or an actual pile of bricks.

Iris sighs, resting her chin in her hands. “Noct, this is _so great_. It’s a complete win-win for me!” She slides the milkshake back between them, sufficiently satisfied with the expression of her interest and ready to resume drinking it. “Now I’ll have plenty of spending money without having to work for Gladdy, but he’s right there so I can visit any time! How lucky is it that Ebony’s right across the street?”

Noctis wills his cheek to stop twitching. “About as lucky as it gets.” Now’s not the time to detail Ignis’s deep-seated and merciless desire to see Gladiolus Amicitia reduced to nothing more than a husk of a man, not to said man’s little sister, at least. Iris seems none the wiser, though, and she fishes a cherry out of the glass with a spoon.

“Do you ever get to do taste testing? For the stuff he bakes?” She ponders the ceiling while chewing on the cherry. “I think I could be a good taste tester, but I wouldn’t want to take over if that’s already your job.”

“You get to make your own drinks and bring them to class.” Noct supplies.

Iris throws down her spoon. “I’m _sold_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the street, he can hear music filtering through Insomnia’s front door, propped open to let a breeze in on such a balmy night. He really just wants to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Local man kicks hornet's nest, is surprised when he gets stung.

On Saturday and Sunday, Iris starts her training at the café across the street from the one her older brother manages. Ignis warms up to her pretty much immediately, and she seems to be decently fond of him as well.

“Iris, can you bring me another box of napkins from the back?” Ignis asks her.

“You got it, Iggy!” She replies, to which Ignis, surprisingly, doesn’t object.

She takes to Ebony’s working practices naturally, and she asks Noct to help her perfect her drink-making skills. He runs through highly specific and finicky scenarios with her while Ignis tends to Ebony’s actual weekend customers, and she does admirably well with his decaf soy sugar-free no-foam latte.

On Monday, Prompto catches wind of it all.

“Shut the _hell up_.” He’s bursting at the seams with barely-contained amusement. “You must be Iris!”

Iris brings the back of her hand up to her forehead, mock faint and playful. “You’ve found me out!” In a lightning flash of understanding, Noct realizes that he has a bit of a pattern with the people he chooses to hang out with. “You must be Prompto, I’ve heard all about you.”

“From Noct or Gladio?”

“Both.”

“I’ll take it.” The last of Ebony’s actual customers have already filed out for the evening, and Prompto eyes what’s left of the pastries through the glass of the display case. “You know, you look _just like_ him. I mean, not in the crazy ripped sense, but your hair is pretty similar, and your eyes, too.”

Iris meets him on the other side of the glass and folds her arms on top of it. “Yeah, I guess so, but only one of the Amicitia children could be blessed with a blue ribbon personality to boot, and it’s yours truly.”

Ignis stifles a laugh from where he’s sorting out the cash denominations, and Noctis elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t seem like Iris took any notice. “Prompto, you can have Iris put together a box of whatever you’re drooling over in the case,” Ignis says. Iris bounces to grab a takeout container and Prompto nearly falls over himself with appreciation for Ignis’s generosity.

“I’ll never forget this,” Prompto wheezes.

“I would hope not, I’d have to reevaluate my skills as a baker.” Ignis replies, as if the notion is indisputably ludicrous.

And really, everything seems to be eerily calm and not a lot changes, at least for a little while. Iris works her first couple of shifts without much fanfare, aside from the faint buzz of gossip that starts circulating among Ebony’s regulars.

 _Have you seen the new assistant at Ebony?_ _Isn’t she cute?_

_I love her outfit! Do you think she’d mind if I asked her where she got it?_

_I think I’ve been in a class with her before! She’s so nice._

Iris hits it off with customers like a match to a haystack, confident from all her practicing with Noct that she can cater to their precise and unbendable whims. The Great Café Competition is a train running down the rails at top speed, and there’s a new, added layer of intricacy to it. What was once only _Who’s the hotter barista, Gladio or Ignis?_ now also includes _Who’s the favorite newcomer, Cindy or Iris?_ It’s kind of concerning that the people around town don’t have anything better to do, because if the rumors Noct’s heard are to be believed, the question of Insomnia versus Ebony has become a character defining one in some social circles.

“You ever feel kind of insulted that people didn’t argue about us?” Prompto asks one night, lounging back against Noct’s chest while they watch reality TV that’s only slightly more theatrical than their own part-time jobs.

“Not really. Besides,” he says back, and when he finishes his sentence, he breathes it against Prompto’s ear, relishing the shiver that wracks the blonde’s shoulders, “I get plenty of attention as is.”

So everything’s kind of in the perfect position to explode.

They make it to the middle of the next week before the beginnings of the end start to show themselves. Prompto’s whistling as sweeps, not so much because he’s a big whistler but more because one his earbuds broke and now he has nothing to listen to, when Gladio crosses his arms to stare out the window.

Again.

“Did they hire a new assistant?” Gladio asks, straining to see. Prompto feels every muscle in his body lock up in an effort to suffocate him so he doesn’t have to handle this conversation right now. “I can kind of see her through the window. I guess Scientia finally wised up to being in over his head.”

Prompto’s chuckle sounds forced and inauthentic, even to him. Over Gladio’s shoulder, he can see Cindy waving her arms like a maniac and making the universal GET THE HELL OUT pantomime of cutting her own throat. “Man, Gladdy, uh. Couldn’t tell ya!”

He nearly punches himself in his own goddamn teeth, but at least it tears Gladio’s attention from Ebony. “Gladdy?” He huffs a laugh. “What, you been hanging around with Iris or something?”

“No, definitely not.” Prompto rasps.

The distinct sound of lots of cardboard hitting the floor all at once echoes from behind the counter. Gladio whips around and Prompto can see Cindy standing at the register, staring down with her hands in front of her mouth.

“Oh, darn it!” She stamps her foot, aggravated with herself. From the lack of hot cups stacked next to the register, Prompto can surmise what’s got her so upset on the floor. “Now look what you gone and done, Cindy! We can’t use these!” She turns her eyes to Gladio, and _holy shit_ , her eyes are actually moist with the undeniable stress of working a service job but lacking the privilege to cry about it. “I sure am sorry, Gladio, that was real thick of me.”

Gladio sighs. “No, it’s fine, it happens. If Prompto paid me for all the cups he’s wasted, I’d be able to open up a second location.” Prompto decides his wounded dignity will live to see another day this time. “Pick ‘em up and toss ‘em while I go grab more from the back, yeah?”

Cindy nods, shamed flush high on her cheeks, looking for all the world like a kid caught stealing cookies. Gladio pushes into Insomnia’s back storage room, his footsteps fading down the hallway, and Prompto scrambles to try and help clean up the litter behind the counter.

Cindy hauls him down by the front of his shirt. “Okay, yeah, yeah, diversion, got it.” He squeaks out, and Cindy might as well have been wearing a Halloween mask, because all that’s left of her Woe Is Me act is the red in her cheeks, but Prompto can tell it’s cause she’s _pissed_.

“Now listen here, Prompto,” she starts, a finger in his face with the nail polish starting to chip, “my paw-paw taught me when to stick to my guns and when to get the hell outta town, but I ain’t got that luxury this time around ‘cause Gladio signs all my paychecks. All that time you took off during break, he was fixin’ to hike over there and tan that poor man’s hide.”

“I mean, it kind of takes two,” Prompto reasons lamely.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna _let him_.” Prompto tries to busy himself with gathering up the scattered hot cups, ignoring the trail of sweat that’s starting to trickle down his back. “If he finds out Ignis hired his own baby sister, you might as well hand deliver an application to Noct, ‘cause that building’s gonna burn down.”

Prompto bites his lip. “C’mon, Cindy, he’s not… well, I mean, it might be an obsession, but you’re making it sound like he’s possessed.”

Cindy looks dumbstruck. “Do you know how many times he chewed my ear off about it? Four Eyes this and try-hard that, his dumb cookies, his stupid hair, his _shoes,_ Prompto, he had a whole thing _just about the man’s shoes_.”

“Whose shoes?” And what the _fuck_ , a guy who’s six foot six and as built as Gladio shouldn’t be able to sneak up on them, hefting a new stack of cups still wrapped in plastic against his shoulder.

At the same moment that Cindy says, “Nobody!” Prompto squawks, “Not Ignis!”

Cindy snaps her head around to try and set him on fire with her eyes. “I have half a mind to knock you into next week.”

Gladio, however, somehow misses the tension between them (and it’s kind of hard to call it tension when it’s all coming from Cindy and “murderous intent” is probably more apropos) and starts unwrapping the new stack. “Oh, yeah, I was telling Cindy about that.” Prompto almost misses it, but he sees the way Cindy’s eyebrow twitches. “Have you seen his shoes? I think they’re dress shoes or something, all shiny and whatever. Like he thinks he’s better than me.” Gladio squints. “Us. Better than us.”

Cindy shoos Prompto away to finish up cleaning, and the look she shoots him says _if this goes south, it’s all on you_. So, fueled by nervous energy and feeling like his heart’s about to cave in, Prompto bounces back up to his feet and makes his best effort to block the exit from the counter with his body. “You wanna know a fun shoe thing I learned?” He starts, trying to banish the quiver from his voice as he struggles to come up with a distraction. “High heels were originally men’s clothing! Isn’t that crazy? I mean, there’s nothing _wrong_ with guys wearing high heels, but it, uh. It sure makes you think!”

Gladio’s brow is furrowed and he brushes past Prompto like he’s made of paper. “Uh, yeah, sure. Cool.” Prompto has to call on all his willpower to hold back a whimper when Gladio turns to stare at Ebony again. “Prompto, do you wanna go over there during your break? Maybe figure out more about the new girl?”

“No!” He slides in front of Gladio, his feet slipping on the freshly-clean floors like he’s in some slapstick cartoon. “I was gonna… do a thing during my break, and _besides_ , she’s really not all that interesting. Nope! Nothing to see with that one.”

Gladio looks at him quizzically. “What, you know her or something?”

Prompto’s never experienced his heart stopping, so he can’t say for certain, but this sensation feels pretty close to what he imagines that would feel like. His whole body goes numb and every possible combination of words he could put together evaporates from his mind, leaving his back ramrod straight in front of Gladio. Honestly, he’s kind of surprised the guy hasn’t found out already. The regulars have all been whispering about it since Iris’s first day at Ebony, _her name’s Iris_ this and _oh, she was in my contemporary art seminar_ that. It speaks to either how clueless or unobservant Gladio is if he’s still failed to pick up on it at this point.

Gladio takes his silence as an admission of guilt, and his smile is positively wolfish. “So you _do_ know who it is!”

Prompto’s eyes flit to the register, but the door to the back is swinging with the force of Cindy’s retreat. That’s all the signal he needs to know this whole interaction is doomed. He meets Gladio’s eyes again, and he swallows before he says, in a voice much smaller than he’s used to speaking with, “You have to promise not to be mad.”

Confusion passes over Gladio’s face like a dark cloud, and something sparks in his eyes, his realization igniting. His face mutates garishly, his nostrils flaring and his teeth clenching together. His next, singular, terrible word is uttered like black smoke from a chimney, a question that he already has the answer to:

“ _Why?_ ”

* * *

 

Ignis is expecting Ebony to close without incident, like most nights. He’s looking forward to the calming routine of shutting down shop, and then going back to his apartment to throw together a fun salad and listen to a new album he’d bought from a hobby store. It’s a good plan, one that he hates to see ruined when his front door swings open and Gladiolus Amicitia is standing there.

His eyes fall to Ignis immediately, a thundering, rushing blaze that lights him up from the inside and makes him dizzy. He briefly wishes he hadn’t been wiping down tables, yearning somewhat for the physical defense of the countertop. Ignis tries to temper the look with his own icy glare, and Gladio’s mouth opens around something pent up and nasty, but Ignis is spared the trouble.

“Gladdy!” Iris chirps, and Gladio’s attention stutters, turning towards his sister instead. “Look at us! We work across the street from one another, isn’t that fun?”

“Iris.” The way it leaves his mouth is almost broken, and he approaches the register robotically, like he’s not sure what to do with his long, unwieldy limbs. “You… when did you start working here?”

She uses her hand to call attention to her nametag, which reads _Iris_ in Ignis’s swooping, stylish scrawl. She’s practically overflowing with pride, her chest puffed out and her hands on her hips. "Last week! Noct got me the job when I mentioned I was hunting around for one.”

Fortunately for Noct, he had slipped out through the back door only minutes before, Prompto having sprinted over from Insomnia for a reason Ignis couldn’t glean— _oh_ , oh, this had been the reason. On one hand, having Gladio’s impending wrath split between himself and Noct maybe would have made it seem less imposing, but then again, a strangely masochistic side of him wants this all for himself.

But now, he’s glued to his sister, shoulders slumped and back hunched to level himself with her better. He’s like a defanged lion, all softness and brotherly affection, and… wow, Ignis suddenly feels ill. What _is_ that? He turns away, gingerly touching a hand to his throat, wary of a tightness in his chest that reaches up to prickle behind his eyes. He must be getting sick.

“I spent so long trying to convince you to come work for Insomnia,” Gladio says softly, “if you needed extra money, I would have loved to have you around.”

Iris is blissfully unaware of the abject betrayal in Gladio’s tone. “Come on, you and I would have torn each other to pieces, you know that. But I worked around it!” She gestures to Ebony like the employment paradise she seems to think it is, but Gladio looks around at everything like he’s standing in the middle of a dump. “This way I’m making money, you and I won’t get at each other’s throats, and we’ll see each other almost as much as we would have if I’d taken the job at Insomnia!”

Gladio seems at a loss for words, and Iris leans over the register, undeterred by his silence. “Aren’t you proud of me?” It comes out teasingly, but it makes Gladio press his lips into a thin line, and the nod he gives her is a hair short of comically solemn.

“Yeah, kiddo. Good job.” He tells her, and there’s a split second where he gives her a smile, loving and understanding the way only an older brother can be when he admits he can’t protect Iris forever. Ignis watches it like it plays in front of him in slow motion, a genuine and unabashed warmth that passes across Gladio’s face, curious and foreign to what Ignis insofar understands of him.

He has to shake away his wooziness. He must really be coming down with something.

Iris hops on the balls of her feet. “Cool, ‘cause I was hoping you’d give me a lift home!” Without giving Gladio the opportunity to answer, she starts untying her apron. “Give me a second to grab my stuff from the back. I’m clocking out, Ignis!”

“Thanks for your help today, Iris,” he says, just to see how it makes Gladio twitch.

Iris throws him a little wave which he returns when she rounds the countertop, jacket and bag under her arm. She bounds over to Gladio and asks him, “Ready?”

“Yeah, go hang out in Insomnia for a sec, alright? I can leave things to Prompto and Cindy for ten minutes while I drive you home.” His voice is so fond and his eyes so sincere that Iris doesn’t question it for even a moment. She gives him a little fist bump and then pushes through Ebony’s front door, and Gladio’s silent as he watches her cross the street.

She disappears into the dim safety of Insomnia, and Gladio’s rage returns full force like a landslide crushing everything in its path. He turns his attention back to Ignis, and oh, no, this could end very poorly for his salad and record playing plans.

“What,” Gladio starts, approaching him like he could pounce at the drop of a pin and snap Ignis’s neck, “the _fuck_ do you think you’re trying to pull here?”

Not to be outdone, Ignis lets his annoyance bloom into something ugly and parasitic, locking eyes with Gladio’s amber stare. “Let’s cut the theatrics, shall we? Iris was looking for employment, I had a position open. I wasn’t going to discriminate against her because she was raised under the same roof as you.”

“You watch your mouth when you’re talking about my kid sister,” Gladio warns, his voice dangerous and barbed. “She can do whatever the hell she wants, but you better believe that if you even think about treating her the way you’ve treated me, I’ll be breaking down that goddamn door of yours.”

“Treated you?” Ignis sneers, incredulous. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes that Gladio’s getting closer, and his own feet are inching backwards, and eventually he’ll end up against a wall and that is _not_ a good place to be in this situation. “What, like a business competitor? Heavens forbid there’s somebody who doesn’t want to drink your cute milkshakes and ask you about your weight training regimen.”

“You’ve had a problem with me since the day you opened this sorry excuse for a business!” Gladio booms, his fists clenched tightly at his side. “You cozy up to _my_ territory, bake your fucking Sunday brunch crumpets, and then have the nerve to spit in my face when I try to be nice to you!”

“If I’d wasted my time on every single person who’s wanted to be ‘nice’ to me, I wouldn’t have been able to build my own café from the ground up.” Ignis’s words leave him like shrapnel trying to dig their way into Gladio’s skin. “I would have had to inherit it from my father.”

He swears that Gladio reels back to punch him, but the hand that comes at him slams against the wall next to his head. The sound of it reverberates so loudly that it makes Ignis’s skull shake, and he’s left wide eyed and panting, livid that Gladio’s got him pinned in his own goddamn coffee shop.

Gladio’s expression is dark, dark, _dark_ , the only light coming from his eyes, primal and hungry. His teeth are clenched so tightly together Ignis thinks they might crack. His own heart is beating like a hummingbird, and he wants to do something about that grimace, wants to, wants to wipe it _right off_ his face so that it crashes to the floor, grab the front of his shirt or fist a hand into his hair or _anything_ to get his aggravation across, some shadowy part of him lashing out like a caged animal.

But, true to form to the vicious end, he leans into Gladio’s space so that he can feel the huffs of air coming from the man’s nose. He wants to make bitterly clear the raw, wild anger coiled up in his chest when he whispers, “Get off of my property,” and it leaves him elated, downright _blissful_ , how it makes Gladio’s whole face flash like a lightbulb going out.

Gladio backs up, watching him with some completely indescribable phenomenon flickering on his face every other second, and if Ignis watches closely, he can see it in the cracks of Gladio’s armor, something like fear, or misunderstanding. But he steels himself and doesn’t even try to get the last word in, turning on his heel and pushing Ebony’s door open so hard it makes Ignis wince.

He stands there, supported by the solidness of the wall behind him, and breathes in the silence of the dining room. Outside, a low rumbling rolls onto the street, and he watches a motorcycle pull out from behind Insomnia, a girl clinging onto the waist of the man holding the handlebars. He can tell that his face is still angrily flushed and he takes off his glasses to rub his eyes, a pressure headache starting to build behind them.

Ignis is still standing in a stupor, anger leaving him like water melting off of ice, and his fingers have paused at his lips, trembling ever so slightly and parted. He shakes his head and slides his glasses back on, and decides he can come in a half hour early tomorrow morning to deal with the baking prep. His normal rounds through the back rooms and to all the light switches are clipped and hasty, and his hands shake as he locks Ebony’s front door for the night.

Across the street, he can hear music filtering through Insomnia’s front door, propped open to let a breeze in on such a balmy night. He really just wants to be home.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this line of questioning points him in the direction he thinks it’s going to, then his ability to help Ignis through it is going to be greatly diminished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [kylie jenner voice] this is the chapter for realizing stuff

Noct doesn’t have a particularly amazing streak of being able to read Ignis’s pensive silences, but as far as streaks go, it’s not abysmal, either. There was one time when Ignis had just started college and Noct was still working on getting through high school, and Noct could tell something was eating away at him when they hung out one weekend. The way his eyebrows had been drawn together, his eyes hyper focused on the diner table in front of them, had betrayed a deep and tangled conflict within his psyche. Noct had promised himself, in that moment, to be ready to listen when Ignis was ready to open up about whatever it was, because Ignis had been there for him before, and he wanted to return the favor.

He ended up having food poisoning and just really needing to throw up, but like, Noct had known something was _wrong_.

This time, he desperately hopes it isn’t food poisoning, because Ignis is busy with frosting tiny strawberry shortcakes and they look so _cute_ and Noct would hate to see them get messed up. His movements are slower than normal and he keeps pausing with the piping bag, eyes bleary and far off.

Noct isn’t nearly as deft as Ignis, and he wouldn’t want to try the whipped cream on the nose trick considering how far down Ignis is hunched to give him a good vantage for his work. Instead, he reaches over with his own piping bag and squirts a tiny, perfect dot of frosting on Ignis’s forearm, bare between his plastic glove and his rolled up sleeve.

Ignis stares at it like it’s burning a hole through his skin.

“Care to elaborate on why you piped frosting on my arm?” Ignis asks flatly.

“If I tried to go for your nose you would have bitten my hand off.” It’s the truth, at least.

Ignis sighs and straightens up, cracking his back in the process. “Something bothering you, Noct?” he asks, like it’s the most obvious direction for this conversation to go, as he moves to wash the offending frosting from his arm.

“Yeah, my boss is acting all sulky and I don’t know how to help him.” Noct crosses his arms and regards Ignis with a quirk to his eyebrow. He hopes it conveys his seriousness and at least a measure more confidence than he actually feels. “I mean, don’t feel obligated, but you’re not as unreadable as you think.”

That seems to give Ignis pause, and he opens his mouth to say something, but chooses against it at the last minute. He stares down at the unfinished cakes, his lips pressed together and thinned as he thinks. “Did Prompto tell you why he came to pick you up yesterday?” he asks quietly.

Noct is thrown for only a second. “Gladio tore you a new one over Iris, didn’t he?”

Ignis chuckles, peeling one glove off his hand so he can card his fingers through his hair. “If only it were that simple.” Noctis doesn’t push him as he sifts through the words he can put together, because he knows how Ignis prides himself in being deliberate, and he won’t speak at all if he can’t put the sentence together correctly. “Yes, he was quite upset about that, but he was also rather displeased with the general condition of our relationship.”

“The whole being rivals thing?” Noct urges.

Ignis shrugs. “More like the open antagonism. It was strange, he made no effort to placate the situation, but from what he said, he's grown exasperated.” Noct can see the mechanical part of Ignis’s brain try to categorize and control this problem, but it’s struggling to consolidate a few factors. “Things escalated, and it shined a rather unflattering light on our entire state of affairs.”

Noct’s eyes widen. “So what, did you get into a shouting match? Did he hit you?” Gladio wouldn’t have actually hurt him, right? Because if he did, six foot six be damned, Noct would march right over to Insomnia and jump down his throat.

Ignis screws his eyes shut and rubs the bridge of his nose, the way he does when anything he can’t immediately fix is eating away at him. “No, no, he didn’t hit me. I can’t say the same for the wall,” no _shit_ , Noct wants to say, “but it’s no damage done, so I’m willing to forget about it.”

Ignis gives him a quick recap of the conversation, the way Gladio had cornered him while he was alone and how he’d bit back just as ferociously, and when he ends the story with the whole _property_ line, Noct whistles lowly. That’s not just jeering and competition, that’s two people who should be forbidden from getting within a certain distance of one another.

There’s a small part of him that’s rejoicing, distantly, because this is finally, _finally_ Noct Lends Ignis an Emotional Hand Hour. He’s been preparing for this day for years.

Ignis’s arms are crossed over his chest tightly, and it makes him look uncharacteristically small, like he’s trying fold himself up and think about what he’s done. “I’m not sure why I can’t push it out of my mind.” Ignis says, his voice thin, weak. “I don’t think I was wrong, but it certainly could have gone better.”

Noct isn’t sure if he’s referring to the specific altercation or his entire relationship thus far with Gladio. He’s not sure if Ignis knows the answer to that question, either.

“What would better have entailed? Better how?”

“I don’t _know_.” Ignis huffs. “I like succeeding, but I don’t take pleasure in making people feel bad. I’m not that much of a sadist.”

Noct would make a quip about that, if it wasn’t for the fondness that washes though him as he’s reminded of how good a guy Ignis truly is. “You were looking for a friendly rival, not an actual enemy.”

“Maybe?” Aggravated, Ignis becomes acutely aware of the cakes again and tugs on a new pair of gloves, probably trying to distract himself from a warring conflict he doesn’t want to face. He kneels down with his piping bag and continues, “But he’s so _infuriating_. Whenever I see him, It's like I can’t breathe, I’m so averse to him.”

Noctis blinks. In the confines of his brain, a set of cogs begin to turn, slow and rusty, grinding against one another, but surely, they begin to move. “What else?” If this line of questioning points him in the direction he thinks it’s going to, then his ability to help Ignis through it is going to be greatly diminished. “What else do you feel? Around him, that is.”

“What else?” Ignis repeats, finishing a perfectly symmetrical heart on top of one of the cakes. “Regular symptoms of anger? My pulse races, I become feverish, everything around me becomes sharper and more defined. It’s like time slows. I notice everything, his eyes, his jaw, his body language.”

He thinks those are regular symptoms of _anger_.

Noct cross references everything against himself, and yeah, he feels all those things from time to time, too. Shortness of breath, a rapid heartbeat, unexplainable warmth, a hyper fixation on the sensations around him, all things that Noct has felt before, and especially as of late, because he feels them around _Prompto_. The cogs are turning in earnest now, throwing off cobwebs and dust, and he blinks hard when his conclusion hits him like an anvil to the head.

It’s the first time in their friendship that he’s felt justified in referring to Ignis as dense.

“You need to talk to him.” Noct says definitively. “And not at Insomnia, either. Go get a drink or something, I dunno. Apologize, or wait for him to, but either way, you need to try.”

Ignis looks at him like he’s speaking in tongues. “Yes, I’m sure he’d love to pencil me in to maul me in a more intimate setting,” he says drily, and Noct wishes he had the energy to be pissy about it, but he’s already expending it all on some pretty “intimate” revelations about his best friend. Ignis glances at his watch and groans, briefly resting his head against his forearm. “I knew I should have started this last night. We can put out the one’s we finished and deal with it if they sell out.”

As Ignis moves to take off his apron and start prepping the front of the store, Noct catches his arm one last time. “Give it some thought, okay?” Ignis’s brow is still all pinched like he’s got a headache brewing, but he doesn’t say no to Noctis either, and he sweeps his way into the front dining room.

Noct’s left with the tiny shortcakes and he sighs. “Could have gone better’s an understatement.”

* * *

 

Across the street, an almost identical conversation is going on in the back room of Insomnia.

“Your sugar inventory doesn’t match up with what you’ve got marked down!” Prompto hollers, feeling official with the clipboard and pen he’s got in his hands. “And I mean, it’s not like he started throwing punches. All he did was tell you to get out of his store.”

“I’ll try and consolidate at the end of the day.” Gladio answers. “You weren’t there, Prompto, there’s telling someone to get out of your store and then there’s trying to eviscerate someone with your tongue. Even I can admit he’s got me beat in the eloquence department.”

Prompto tries to keep the number of plastic forks he’d counted in his head while continuing to make conversation. “That might just be the accent. I dunno, Gladio, I hang out with Ignis all the time, he’s a cool guy, and you’re a cool guy. You could be two cool guys together.”

Gladio _is_ a cool guy. He’s kind of gruff and he’s strict, but he’s nicer than any boss Prompto’s ever had, and he laughs at Prompto’s dumb jokes despite himself, compliments his photography, offers to walk Cindy home when she works late. His whole existence is a patchwork of likable traits, sewn together into one loud, overlarge package.

“I don’t know what I _did_ to the guy. I barely had time to introduce myself before he started making me feel like a dipshit, and I tried to be nice, I really did!” Gladio’s sigh is gusty, even from the other room. “Fork count?”

“Thirty boxes.” Prompto replies. “No, scratch that, twenty-nine. Maybe you guys need a fresh start, you know? A chance to get back on the right foot with him. He told me he likes old records, so that’s some common ground you could start with. Or the whole owning a coffee house thing.”

Gladio scoffs. “Yeah, he probably listens to… like, classical music, or something. I like rock and I like blues, and that’s probably too _pedestrian_ for his tastes. Spoons?”

“Twenty-seven. You’re pretty quick to write him off, dude. This might be why you guys rub each other the wrong way so bad.” Prompto stretches his arms up high into the air. “You gotta open up! Don’t you think it’s weird how both of you only seem to get bad reviews from one another?”

“Well, I don’t see how that’s _my_ fault.” Gladio argues. “You should expect some negativity when you’re that insufferable. And honestly, I don’t see where any of the complaints on my part are coming from. I’m a _joy._ I didn’t spend all of high school doubting myself just for some prick with a stick up his ass to give me flashbacks to it.”

Prompto’s about to shout his reply Gladio’s way when he appears in the doorway and Prompto nearly screams. “And that’s another thing,” Gladio continues, none the wiser to the heart attack Prompto’s sure he got _this_ close to having, “I’ve dealt with assholes before, but Ignis Scientia, man. That’s like major league asshole. I can barely go an hour without his face popping up in my head and I get so,” he clenches his fist in way of an actual descriptor.

Prompto’s sitting crisscross on the floor and he squints up at Gladio. “I’m gonna need more than you flexing your hand, dude.”

“I dunno, anxious?” Gladio says quickly. “You know what I mean? When you _really_ don’t like someone, and they make you feel all,” he struggles for a minute, his eyes lost trying find a way to describe what he’s thinking, “tingly and kinda nauseous.”

Prompto tries to think back on all the people in his life he’s heavily disliked, and he comes back unsurprisingly dry. “No, can’t say that I do.”

Gladio groans, wiping a hand down his face. “It’s like,” he starts, his hands waving patterns in the air that Prompto can’t quite make sense of, “it’s like being on a boat, kinda, you keep losing your footing and looking at them makes your vision swirl, and you’re chilly? Because you’re so mad?”

Now, _that’s_ a sensation Prompto can relate to, but he’s never associated it with anger or distaste or any negative emotion whatsoever. Sometimes he catches Noct staring at him when he thinks Prompto can’t see, and _then_ , that’s when he feels like that.

Prompto thinks it’s _awesome_.

But he sure as hell isn’t telling that to Gladio, not right now, not this week, probably not ever.

“You’re not gonna get anywhere unless you talk to him about it.” Prompto says, because it’s the truth, but also because suddenly these pieces are falling into place and the picture they’re putting together is definitely not what Prompto had expected.

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Yeah, before or after he has me drawn and quartered? I think I’ll pass, Prompto.” He leans against the doorway. “You wanna take your break? Cindy can pick up where you left off, if you want.”

Prompto shakes his head vigorously, because _no_ , he doesn’t want time to mull over these thoughts until he can leave work and possibly run to Noct’s apartment and unload it all on him. It’s like letting the idea take root would eat him alive if he left it untended. “I can keep going. We were on knives, right?”

Gladio frowns, his face tinted with disbelief, but he pushes off the doorway and heads back down the hall. “Yeah, what did you get?”

“Twenty-one.” Prompto answers, and tries to distract himself with counting, or thoughts of Noct, or literally anything to keep the scope of this discovery from hitting him full force.

* * *

 

Message from PROMPTO (7:47 P.M.)  
_NOCT WE GOTTA TALK_

Message from NOCT (˘ ³˘)♥ (7:49 P.M.) _  
Did you talk to Gladio???_

Message from PROMPTO (7:52 P.M.)  
_Yeah, did u talk to Ignis?_

Message from NOCT (˘ ³˘)♥ (7:53 P.M.) _  
yea. Its pretty obvious whats up with him but idk about gladio_

Message from PROMPTO (7:58 P.M.)  
_I was gonna say the same thing!! The other way around tho_

Message from NOCT (˘ ³˘)♥ (8:00 P.M.)  
_So???? Should we meet at insomnia or ebony bc both sound like bad ideas_

Message from PROMPTO (8:01 P.M.)  
_meet me after class on monday, I know a good spot. I’ll text Cindy if u text Iris_

* * *

 

A safe distance away from both Insomnia and Ebony is a little diner called the Crow’s Nest, which makes kind of subpar French fries but they’re super cheap so nobody complains about it. According to urban legends around campus, the Crow’s Nest dates back at least a couple hundred of years and was the local watering hole for bounty hunters, but by most accounts, it was built, like, forty years ago, max.

In a greasy booth in one of the Crow’s Nest’s back corners, Noctis and Prompto lay out the grand, invisible mechanism of the entire Insomnia/Ebony rivalry to Cindy and Iris, their captive audience.

It goes over like a lead balloon.

It only takes a few seconds of blank staring for Prompto to start squirming.

“Do you,” Noct says slowly, “need us to explain it again?”

It’s funny to see how Iris lights up while Cindy deflates. Giggles shake Iris’s small form relentlessly, and Cindy presses her thumbs into her eyes like she’s trying to imagine she’s any place but here. Noct sends Prompto an unsure glance, but the blonde doesn’t look much more confident than he himself feels.

Cindy reaches across the table and takes both of their hands in either of hers. Her face is solemn, almost melancholy. “You two are so, _so_ dumb,” she says, which only gets Iris going again.

“What?” Prompto squeaks, his blush staining the tips of his ears. “You don’t think it’s possible?”

“Possible?” Cindy parrots, disbelief coloring every syllable of it. “Of course they wanna nail each other, it’s plain as day!”

Iris is torn between her laughing fit and wincing. “Still my brother! Still talking about my brother.”

Prompto droops against the table. “Man, I’m sick of being the last person in the loop! Sorry that I don’t think about our boss banging their boss.” Iris is the only person spared of his pout. “Not to tread on a sore subject.”

“It comes with the territory.” Iris concedes. She picks off a fry from the plate they’d been sharing, cold and limp by now, and starts chewing it. “See, thing is, Gladdy’s competitive streak runs about a mile wide, so when he gets in the zone he sort of develops blind spots for everything else. Even if you spelled it out to him with fireworks, he probably wouldn’t figure it out.”

Noctis sighs. “Which sucks, ‘cause Ignis is exactly the same way. They’re both smart, good guys whose duller moments happen to perfectly coincide.”

“Which means there ain’t nothin’ we can do about it.” Cindy concludes, though she looks about as content with that as the rest of them. “They gotta figure it out themselves.”

“And who knows how long that’ll take?” Prompto says gravely.

“So we’re supposed to let them wallow?” Iris asks, shoulders sagging. “That seems… not right, somehow.” She tosses her half eaten fry back on the plate to sit with the other abandoned ones. “It’s all Gladdy talks about. Well, not _all_ he talks about, he’s got hobbies and a life, obviously, but I knew his version of Iggy way before I knew the real thing.”

“Any noticeable differences?” Noct asks.

“It pretty much boils down to hot and mean, though the hot part is more of an inference. The mean part, though,” she exhales steadily through her nose, “that’s loud and clear.”

Noct’s phone buzzes against the table, and as he reads the text, he holds his hand out to Iris for a high five. “Good news, our boss is less dumb than their boss.” She gasps and gently touches his hand instead, leaning over his shoulder to peek at the screen.

“Hey, wait, share with the class!” Cindy complains as Prompto tries to peer over the top of the phone. Noct lies it flat against the table in lieu of passing it around, because something about the effect of everyone reading it at once seems more dramatic and fun.

Message from IGNIS (2:48 P.M.)  
_I’m taking your advice. See if you can get his address from Iris next time you see her. Consider it a favor._

There’s a small part of him that feels bad for sharing what Ignis probably assumed would be a private and confidential message, but another, bigger part of him, once again, that figures it serves Ignis right for being so obtuse for so long.

“Are you gonna—?” Prompto starts to ask Iris, but she’s already swiping the phone up, her gaze intent as she starts typing. “Alright, well, okay, so there’s that.”

“He’ll thank me in the long run. Both of them will, actually.” She takes one last look at the text, satisfied with her work, before handing it back to Noct to proofread.

Ignis would see through it before it even got to his phone, he’d be able to _sense_ the vibes of it and how Iris it was in spirit. “Gonna have to cut the smiley faces, and pretty much all of the exclamation points.”

Iris makes a sad sound. “That’s the whole charm, though.”

Noct makes his quick edits and forwards the text along, then lays the phone down flat again. There’s something kind of strange about four college students staring at one phone in the middle of a diner table, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering weakly, and he’s pretty sure someone could make an art piece out of the whole scene, if they were bitter enough.

The phone lights up with Ignis’s name.

Message from IGNIS (2:54 P.M.)  
_Thanks Iris. (_ _─‿─)_ _ﾉ_

“Aw!” Iris says, and Noct wonders if this is ever gonna come back to haunt him. “Tell him he’s very welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the next couple of updates are a tiiiiiiny bit slower, please forgive me! I'm thinking of doing a few minor rehauls, but it should still be by tomorrow night at the latest, if not tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want to fight with you, Mr. Amicitia, that isn’t why I came here.”
> 
> “So why did you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah HELL YEAH damn right FUCKIN RIGHT (aka Welcome To Ten Pages Of Banter And Smut)
> 
> i proofread this at 10pm while eating cold mac n cheese

Ignis recognizes his habit of stalling when he’s anxious, but just because he can recognize it doesn’t mean he can actually do anything about it. He reads and rereads and rereads again the address Iris had texted him a few hours ago (through Noct’s phone, of course) to make absolutely sure that he’s got the right place. Wouldn’t want to disturb someone this late at night, after all.

But the street sign is correct, as is the gold number plate to the left of the front door, and there’s no denying that in the last room on the left of the third floor of this building, Gladiolus Amicitia rests his head.

Ignis rolls his shoulders. “This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” he mutters.

Gladio’s neighborhood is cozy; the streetlamps keep it illuminated and the apartment buildings appear to be decently spacious and well kept. The block where Ignis’s own apartment sits is slightly more compacted, but with a modern, minimalist flair. Where Gladio’s street is all warm tones and rounded edges, Ignis’s is sleek and ergonomic and neurotically designed. It speaks well to their respective personalities.

With every step Ignis ascends the staircase, it’s as if gravity is trying to valiantly rescue him by pushing him back downward. But he keeps climbing, and eventually he reaches the third floor platform, blood rushing in his ears and doubt ricocheting around his mind like a pinball machine. _Last door on the left_ , he reminds himself, _just knock and deal with whatever happens afterward_. Not normally his style, but then again, he doesn’t normally find himself in situations like this.

His hand hovers against the door for far longer than would appear natural to an observer, and he kicks himself inwardly, because he’s being stupid and he’s an adult. Three swift, firm knocks, and he backs up a half-step, and he _doesn’t_ run back towards the stairs, much as he would like to.

There’s a muted shuffling from further within the apartment, and now that he’s listening closely, is that music? Yes, there’s definitely music softly playing, wafting toward the door. It’s a pleasing blend of bass and steel string guitar which abruptly halts, and footsteps approach from the other side.

The door is wrenched open and Ignis actually manages to hold back his flinch.

Gladio’s standing in the jamb with his hand on the door, dressed down to a pair of sweatpants and a faded college shirt. His hair is damp at the fringes, curling to frame the back of his neck and the line of his jaw. He spots Ignis and doesn’t immediately slam the door, which is probably a good sign, but his nostrils flare like he’s ready to do it at any second.

Gladio peers down the hallway, and then, unsatisfied, cranes to look behind Ignis, as if someone else, someone who might actually want to come and visit him, could be hiding behind. His eyes flit to his unit number, emblazoned on his front door, before returning to Ignis. “How did you get my address?”

Ignis feels the hooks of exhaustion already starting to pull at him. “Don’t look so suspicious. I asked Iris.”

He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but it’s not that Gladio would… stare at him. Like he’s some unsolvable math equation, or one of those exotic birds with colorful, complex patterns on its feathers. By this point in the interaction, Ignis had expected to be out on the curb again or, less likely, enjoying a good laugh with his new friend Gladio about how immature they’d both been acting for the past few months. Not staring, though, and it’s the unthinkable third option that’s throwing Ignis for a loop, because he has no idea what to do.

Gladio seems to be waiting for him to give an excuse, something like _Oh, your mail was delivered to me again, isn’t that strange? I decided to drive all the way to the other side of town to hand it to you, aren’t I lovely?_ Ignis can only stand one or two more excruciating seconds of it, eventually opting to gesture through Gladio’s door. “May I?” He wonders if the strain sounds as obvious to Gladio as it does to himself.

And isn’t that the question, _May I?_ Gladio really appears to consider it, and at the very least, Ignis figures it might earn him the unfortunate but final door in the face that he’s beginning to crave. But Gladio’s sigh billows out of him and he drops his hand from the door, waving Ignis inside.

He mumbles his thanks as he crosses over the threshold, and unobstructed by Gladio’s body filling up the doorframe, the apartment is actually quite nice. The kitchen to his left appears well-loved and lived in, and Gladio’s amassed quite the collection of recreational materials in his living space on the right; there’s a bookshelf full to the point that its sides are straining to stand straight, and a shelf with a rather admirable movie collection, and in the corner stands a record player, paused with the needle up, next to a crate of vinyl sleeves.

Ignis drifts over to it, his hands politely folded behind his back, and he can make out the name of the record on the table along its inner rim. He recognizes the band name, to the point that he’s actually sure he has the same record sitting at home, and he peers into the crate to inspect the rest of the collection. “You listen to blues?” He asks, his eyes falling on album covers he’s well familiar with. “Your taste is remarkable. How did you manage to track these down?”

“Man, what are you doing in my apartment?” Gladio finally asks, his voice exasperated. Ignis looks up and he’s got his arms crossed, his brows drawn together, irritable and uncompromising. “I’m trying to enjoy my night off, so if you could tell me what you need and beat it, that’d be great.”

It stings, but it’s certainly not unwarranted. Ignis shuts his eyes tightly. “Quite. Pardon the intrusion.” Gladio grunts, and it’s not a pardon, but it’s a response, at least. “I was hoping to clear the air with you. You’ll have to forgive me for not being certain how to proceed.”

“Apologizing’s a foreign concept to you, huh?” Gladio jabs.

“To you as well, evidently.” Ignis bites back, before remembering that they’re following the same script they have been since they met, and this definitely isn’t what he had been hoping for in coming here. If he keeps down this road, he’ll only end up in the same position as the week prior in Ebony. “I don’t want to fight with you, Mr. Amicitia, that isn’t why I came here.”

“So why did you?” Gladio asks, and he doesn’t even sound mad, he’s just _tired_. All that’s left in him for this stupid rivalry or feud or whatever the hell kind of enmity is between them is unequivocal indifference.

“I thought we could bury the hatchet.” Ignis is reaching the end of his rope, because confronting his emotions is one thing, feelings like guilt and regret and a desire to make amends, but actually talking about them, especially with someone who isn’t particularly fond of him, is another beast entirely. “I know neither of us are keen to admit fault, but we can both agree that we’ve behaved—”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Does it matter?” Yes, with every passing second, this is looking more and more like a lost cause. Whether he’s stubborn and defensive or not, Gladio, plain and simple, doesn’t like him, and doesn’t want to work with him. “If only one of us was in the wrong then this wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“Of course it matters!” Gladio returns, and to his credit, he’s trying to express himself while still holding his ground. They’re simply struggling to meet in the middle. “Ignis, I’ve been real shitty to you, but you’ve been real shitty to me right back. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

“I never meant for things to become this personal.” Something about the light in Gladio’s apartment is becoming too bright, and Ignis wants to flee from the glare of it. He wants to go outside and get back in his car and drive somewhere where there are no lights, and pretend this whole terrible idea never occurred to him. “I’ve tried to one up you and undermine you and present myself as this worthy opponent, but you weren’t looking for that from me, and I kept at it anyway.”

Gladio runs a hand through his hair, frustrated and impatient, a flush high on his cheeks. “All I wanted to know was if you actually had a problem with me. Yeah, I wanted to outdo you, too, but every time we’ve fought or caused a scene, it was ‘cause I couldn’t figure you out. Leave it to the most cryptic guy I’ve ever met to hate me for no—”

“I don’t hate you.” Ignis interrupts him, like a dam giving way, and it stills the air between them better than any apology could have. Gladio watches him, stunned, and he swallows thickly, says it again, more to himself this time than anything else. “I don’t hate you.”

Slowly, in measured steps, the frame that he’s built around Gladio begins to fall away, an unforgiving and unfair template founded by his own stubbornness and spite. What misconceptions he’d fostered in his mind, endlessly, compulsively, caricatures of lies he’d told himself, file away into nothing, and Ignis is left staring at the Gladio that perhaps everyone else sees.

But perhaps not, because his heartbeat is still erratic, and his breathing is still uneven, but Gladio isn’t some uncouth thug or bully without manners. He’s fresh out of the shower and relaxed, the collar of his shirt damp from his hair, and he’s listening to blues on a record player in his comfortable apartment. Despite that, Ignis still finds that his throat is tight, and that the room is spinning, and that Gladio’s eyes, golden and questioning, are really quite beautiful, aren’t they?

 _What a mess I’ve made of this_ , he thinks, but mostly he’s referring to himself. Foolish and juvenile, this. The weight of what he’d been refusing to acknowledge falls around him like a blanket, and he becomes terribly aware of how badly he’s handled this from the very beginning. He blinks hard, tries to shake away the dizziness.

“Ignis?” Gladio’s voice shakes him from his thoughts.

He reaches one hand out, braces it heavily against the wall. “I’m sorry, could I bother you for a glass of water?” He asks, though his own voice sounds far away.

Gladio moves without hesitating, ducking into the kitchen to rummage through his cupboards, and Ignis trails behind. He’s experiencing everything at the same intensity as before, just with different context. There’s the smell of Gladio’s aftershave, a rich and heady scent, and the stretch of his sleeves against his biceps. Ignis leans against the countertop and watches him at the sink, and notices a slight scar through Gladio’s left eyebrow, and if he looks closely, the faint white line as it continues over his cheekbone.

Gladio turns and hands him the glass, and he nods his thanks in lieu of speaking. One arm wrapped snugly across his stomach as he sips at it, he wonders if he could still leave and forget this ever happened, to brush it off with Gladio and go back to the painful way things were before. He knows, though, in the back of his mind, that there’s something here that he can’t disregard anymore, too blatant now to be pushed aside.

Gladio takes the counter opposite of him and folds his arms, the expression on his face an unusual blend of concern and confusion, like his instincts are telling him to nurture but his experiences are warning him away. Ignis meets his eyes, beating his pride back down his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Gladio nods, and he moves to meet the acquiescence halfway. “Me too.”

It’s not a lot to cover a laundry list of transgressions from both of them, but somehow, it manages. The din in Ignis’s head quiets, and he’s standing across from Gladio in his apartment, rain beginning to patter in a slow hum against the windowpane. He can only hope that on Gladio’s end the sentiment is the same, and they can start over, maybe as friends, although the thought makes something far within him pinch unpleasantly.

Ignis sets aside his glass, all of a sudden very aware that he’s imposing. He spares a glance at his watch. “I should let you resume your evening,” he remarks, but Gladio’s kitchen is small, and when he goes to push off of his counter Gladio does the same in tandem, which spares essentially no room in the middle. Ignis instinctually retracts to avoid colliding with him and ends up with his back pressed against the counter again, only this time, Gladio’s much closer, insinuated into his space. The man's eyes widen, and he starts, endeavoring to retreat from Ignis's personal space.

“Shit, sorry, my bad," he stammers. Ignis is staggered by the size of him at this proximity, the breadth of his shoulders and the swell of his chest under his shirt, and he notices the smallest, most inconsequential details of Gladio’s tattoo up close, dots and swirls that weave around his collarbones.

Ignis blinks once, twice, in an attempt to reestablish his mental foundation. “No, that’s… that’s fine.” He can’t help but take note of the faint smell of soap, or the sound of Gladio breathing, or the thew of his forearms, well-defined and meticulously sculpted.

The aggravating thing about this is that Ignis realizes it’s taking place in a span of seconds, but it feels like he’s been standing here for days. He doesn’t know why his mind is torturing him by precisely detailing this interaction, making it syrupy and slow to him… or he _does_ know why, but he doesn’t know how to handle it. The way Gladio’s shoulders taper down to his waist is artful, the angles of his Adam’s apple are sharp. He’s undeniably, stupidly attractive, and Ignis is caught by how his lashes fan out when he blinks, and—

He finally locks eyes with Gladio, and immediately regrets it because it’s like falling into the deepest trench in the ocean, or fading into a starless sky. Gladio stare is a dark, honeyed hue, the slightest bit hooded and watching Ignis closely.

Gladio doesn’t step forward, but he shifts his stance, and impossibly, gets even closer, though still not touching Ignis, but the distance between them would be a challenge to thread. One large hand braces against the countertop beside Ignis, and he can’t help the way it makes his breath catch. It’s like a mirror image of their altercation at Ebony, only this time, the hand isn’t a threat, but more of a tentative promise, an offering of something that can still be denied.

 _This is your last warning,_ Ignis tells himself.

“Listen,” Gladio starts, and his voice is a rumble, low and pleasing to the ear, “feel free to stop me if you’re, uh… uncomfortable or anything. But you don’t have to leave if you don’t want.” He looks down, biting his lip like he’s unsure. “You can stay a while, if you like, but I can also walk you out if you wanna go.”

Feeling brazen and like his motions have a delay, Ignis lifts his hand, hooks a finger underneath Gladio’s chin to lift it. He stares into Gladio’s eyes, utterly entranced with them now that he knows they can look like that, pupils blown wide and dimmed by some instinctual longing. “What would staying entail?” he asks, his own voice barely more than a murmur, and Gladio’s hand on the countertop falls to his waist.

He leans up into it, the way Gladio kisses him, cautious and a little cagey but yearning so _badly_ for this to work out. The fire that had been crawling across his skin seems to ease with it, and he brings his hands up to cup Gladio’s jaw as the man’s other hand moves to match the one on Ignis’s waist. He kisses solidly, and soothingly, and without limit, and though his lips are deliberate and careful to not to push boundaries, Gladio makes his message abundantly clear. He pulls away like he’s pulling out of a dream, and Ignis can still taste how it sparks against his lips, and he quietly makes it his mission to do everything in his power to make sure it happens again.

Gladio bumps their noses together lightly. “How was that?” he asks, and Ignis finds it difficult to answer, too dazed to put together a coherent sentence. Instead, his hands slide down from Gladio’s face, his touch caressing and exploratory, and end splayed out at Gladio’s chest. Through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, he can feel the solidness of Gladio’s body, the mounting warmth of it, and he catches the way the movement makes Gladio’s lashes flutter.

“Nice. Very nice.” He registers Gladio’s pulse, very faintly, under his hands, and it makes his own thrum and try to beat in time. His eyes meet Gladio’s again, burning and positively fixated. “It begs a repeat performance, if you ask me.”

Gladio laughs, and the soft puff of it skitters across his own lips. “Just once, I wanna see you speechless.”

“Well,” he supplies, lacing every word with unmistakable and unadulterated meaning, “we do have all night.”

There’s a brief pause, almost comical in nature, where time seems to stop after that. Gladio’s gaze flits down to his mouth before returning to his eyes, absorbed, consumed, and Ignis tries to convey his seriousness, his willingness, his consent to the very last ounce. And then it’s like something inside of Gladio _snaps_.

This time, there’s no hesitance in the kiss, not a moment’s worth of uncertainty, their lips crashing together feverishly as several months of pent up energy and staunchly denied attraction to one another lets loose like a hurricane. Gladio eagerly licks into his mouth, pressing the long line of his body up and down Ignis’s front to make as much contact as possible, and the little gasps Ignis can’t help but make are getting swallowed in the fervor of it, one arm encircling Gladio’s neck while the other hand is buried in his hair. Ignis catches the other man’s lower lip between his teeth and Gladio groans, the vibration of it wracking Ignis to the core and going straight to his cock, rapidly hardening where it’s pressed against Gladio’s hip.

He has about two seconds to delight in that little victory before Gladio grabs his waist and physically _lifts him_ so that he can sit on the countertop. It knocks the breath out of him when Gladio slides between his spread legs, grinding their hips together and swooping in to capture his lips again.

“What’s wrong?” Gladio teases him, speaking against Ignis’s mouth in breaks between kissing him. “I’m tempted to throw you over my shoulder if it’ll make you gasp like that.”

“If you so much as consider it, I’ll—” The end of the threat turns into a moan as Gladio thrusts his hips and sucks a mark underneath Ignis’s jaw at the same time, entirely inconvenient and hard to cover up. Ignis huffs, but he tilts his head anyway to allow better access. “Did no one ever teach you it’s rude to interrupt someone?”

“I didn’t say anything.” Gladio’s eyes are bright, lust and amusement playing in the depths of them.

Ignis smiles against his temple in spite of himself. “At this rate, we’ll spend more time on comebacks than actually having sex.”

Just the words, the verbal affirmation of it, makes Gladio growl against his throat. “You’re probably right. Might as well skip to the good part.” He kisses Ignis again, a degree sweeter this time, laughter threatening to bubble up behind it, before he says, “Alright, beautiful, hold on,” and suddenly the countertop is no longer underneath him.

He has to lock his legs around Gladio’s hips as he’s lifted again, this time with one of those broad hands cupping his ass and another sliding up his back, and Ignis figures he’d be mortified if not for the fact that he’s no twig of a man. Six feet of height and lean muscle and Gladio picks him up like he’s a ragdoll, and sure, maybe that gets him going a little, so he channels that all into kissing him more, licking him open, and Gladio falls into it. He softly falls back against the cabinets opposite and returns what he receives in earnest, holding Ignis up with barely a modicum of effort, priding himself in Ignis’s unraveling composure.

Eventually, Ignis can’t help but laugh, and it gets lost in the kiss somewhat. “The bed, _the bed_ ,” he reminds Gladio, and it earns him a thrilled purr.

“Ooh, he’s _pushy_.” Gladio says, but he does as he’s instructed, somehow managing to stumble into his own bedroom on muscle memory alone while wholly engrossed in acquainting his tongue with Ignis’s.

He doesn’t throw Ignis onto the bed, because he’d have half a mind to be miffed about that, but he does sort of drop him, and he bounces slightly, but he’s too distracted with Gladio hovering over him, eyes shadowed and hungry, to care. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you practiced that to impress me.”

“So you admit you’re impressed.” Gladio throws back, the atmosphere of it good-natured rather than tense, and he tugs his shirt off with one swift motion, balling it up to toss to the side of the room.

Ignis _had_ a retort prepared, but the full package of Gladio’s torso leaves him reeling, his throat unhelpfully dry. Gladio runs a hand through his hair and Ignis watches the lines of his tattoos, the curves of his abs as they follow the motion. “Yes,” is all he can manage, and he knows Gladio can hear how wrecked it is, because he smirks as Ignis’s eyes trail down to the cut v of his Apollo’s belt.

Gladio slides Ignis’s glasses off his face, and he kisses the bridge of his nose as it’s revealed, moving down to press his lips against Ignis’s again as he sets the glasses on his nightstand. “You know, the specs really add to the whole sophisticated gentleman look, but you’re pretty cute without ‘em, too.”

Ignis flushes at the compliment. “Well, that’s terribly sentimental.”

“Yeah, get used to it,” Gladio chuckles, and the notion that there will be anything to get used to at all makes Ignis’s heart flutter faintly. Gladio starts working on opening his button up, slowly exposing the skin of Ignis’s chest and showing it attention with his mouth, feather-light kisses here, a number of marks sucked over there. He sits up so that Gladio can slide it off his shoulders, and it gets tossed in the same general direction the college shirt had gone only moments before. He probably needed to iron it again, anyway.

The sensation leaves Ignis lightheaded, and he throws back his head with a moan Gladio swirls his tongue around a nipple. His capacity for trading wits is wearing itself thin as his world is reduced to a tunnel vision of need pooling at the base of his stomach, his only points of light being Gladio’s mouth and his hips and his hands and Gladio, Gladio, _Gladio_. Ignis lifts his hips off the bed, desperate for any kind of relief, and Gladio catches them, holds them down.

“Someone’s eager.” Gladio says, and that ticks him off just a little bit, so he surges up to kiss him again, distract him as he reaches down to rub Gladio’s cock through his sweatpants. It makes the other man hiss, bucking his hips forward into Ignis’s hand involuntarily, and Ignis grins.

“What was that?” he asks, but as he feels the heft of Gladio’s length, the size and thickness of it, only somewhat disguised by the fabric of his sweatpants, all vestiges of cleverness flee him as he’s overcome with the need to have Gladio inside him. “Holy shit,” he breathes.

Gladio pins him back down and grinds their hips together, and Ignis spreads his legs to give him better access, piece by piece falling apart under Gladio’s hands. “I wanna hear you swear more in that pretty accent of yours,” Gladio rumbles.

“If you play your cards right, that shouldn’t be a problem,” he says, and Gladio rolls his hips again, and his eyes nearly roll back into his head. “Alright, enough of that until we’re actually undressed or I won’t last.”

Gladio hears him loud and clear, making quick work of his belt and slacks, which also end up in the mysterious fourth dimension where clothes discarded during sex are tossed. Ignis’s self-consciousness only lasts as long as it takes for Gladio to slide out of his sweatpants, and the sight of his cock, heavy and dark and glistening at the tip, stokes a fire in him to such ferocity that he nearly forgets that he’s similarly exposed.

He pulls Gladio down to kiss him again, lazy and sloppy and wrong in the best ways, and he gasps into it as their cocks brush together, his own curved against his stomach and leaking excitedly. “I don’t have to write you an invitation to fuck me, do I?” he asks, mostly to see how it makes Gladio’s eyes gloss over with want.

Gladio smiles and Ignis doesn’t notice that he’s lined up their lengths until his hand closes over the both of them, and his groan leaves him like it’s trying to tear him apart from the inside. The friction of Gladio’s dick, longer and thicker than his, coupled with the rough strokes of his hand nearly causes him to lose it right then and there. His hand flies down to cover Gladio’s, too focused on gasping in air to notice a rummaging next to his head.

His eyes are closed, blissed out on the sensation of thrusting into Gladio’s hand, when he feels a slicked finger circle his entrance. “All good?” he hears Gladio ask, right next to his ear, and he nods, swallowing his whine as Gladio’s finger slips into him.

Gladio tests him for a minute, pulling it out and easing it back in to test Ignis’s reactions, and when he’s satisfied with the give, he adds a second, and it’s _tight_ , and Ignis is sure his head is about to explode. “You need me to slow down?” Gladio asks, his hand having shifted to focusing on just Ignis’s cock to distract him from the burn, but he shakes his head stubbornly. He waits it out, knowing that eventually Gladio will brush against—

“ _Ah!_ ” His back arches off the bed like he’s a live wire, and immediately the whole exercise goes from a mild strain to one that’s pure ecstasy. Gladio moves to kiss him and Ignis pulls him in, all tongue and open mouth as Gladio’s hand works faster. He doesn’t nail that sweet spot on every push, but it’s enough to leave him gasping and ready for more. He doesn’t even notice that Gladio had upped it to three until he’s already pulling his fingers out.

He keeps his legs apart and inviting, chest heaving with the labor of his breaths, as Gladio rolls on the condom. When he looks up, he licks his lips, and Ignis idly considers what a sight he must be. “You should see yourself,” he says, eyes raking down the full length of Ignis’s body, his mussed up hair, the red sheen of his lips, the hickies trailing down his neck and his chest, his aching cock. He leans to hover over him, giving him sweet, soft little pecks as he lines up with Ignis’s hole. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He pushes the tip in, and presses his forehead against Ignis’s, and the way his gaze bores down is almost suffocating.

Gladio feels even bigger than he looks, the stretch only made bearable by the extensive prep, but the sensation of him filling Ignis up is _so good_ , it makes him see stars. He maintains that eye contact, inch by mind-numbing inch, and Ignis has to remind himself to breathe, overwhelmed by the intensity of it. He bottoms out, and Ignis sighs shakily, green eyes locked with amber.

“All set?” Gladio asks, and he nods. Gladio thrusts shallowly once, setting his hips, before he starts moving.

The rhythm is slow and methodical at first, deep, powerful thrusts that leave Ignis squirming and gripping Gladio’s shoulders for purchase. The drag as he pulls out is divine and the force as he slides back in just as much, the grip on his hips bruising as Gladio tries to rein himself in. But no, he doesn’t _want_ Gladio to control himself, and he tries to express as much, peppering kisses across the man’s face and whispering, “ _Harder_.”

Gladio’s is biting his lip so hard it threatens to bleed. “You're _tight_ ,” he grinds out, and pulls out nearly all the way on the wind up, ramming back in, his cockhead slamming into Ignis’s prostate and eliciting what could very well count as a shout from him.

Gladio’s smile is shaky but victorious, rocking into that spot over and over again to establish a rhythm. Ignis’s vision is starting to blur, pleasure buzzing at the fringes of his mind like white noise, and he tries to lift his hips to get a better angle, groaning, “ _Gladio_ ,” as he pushes in to the hilt again.

And somehow, it starts Gladio, makes his tempo stutter and his face goes slack. “You’ve never…” He mumbles, and Ignis has only half a second to consider what he means before the man growls and lifts Ignis’s hips further off the bed, repositioned so he can slide in all the more deeply, completely. The new angle is heavenly, like a jolt to his system that lights up every nerve in his body. “Say it again, I wanna hear you say it again,” Gladio pants, and sets into a new pace, fast and brutal and punishing.

Ignis can barely manage to say anything at all with the blind, sunburst pressure that’s building in his abdomen and shooting straight into his brain, but as Gladio practically grinds him into the mattress, he manages to gasp, “Gladio,” into his ear, a broken and thoughtless and unsteady litany, “Gladio, Gladio, please, _Gladio_.” The more he says it, the more Gladio is spurred to meet it as an entreaty, as a _demand_ , pounding into him with relentless momentum.

Gladio’s hand reaches down to circle his cock, warm and in time with the movement of his hips, and Ignis can feel the edge rushing up to meet him. He bites down on Gladio’s shoulder to try and hold in a cry, but it makes the other man’s rhythm falter and he thrusts a degree deeper, cock hot and full inside of him, and it ends up being a lost cause. Ignis presses his face into the side of Gladio’s neck as he comes, moaning his name, spilling in thick white ropes over Gladio’s fingers. His grip digs into Gladio’s shoulders and he can feel himself clench down, and a startled sound rips itself from Gladio’s throat, his hand flying up to brace against the headboard as his own orgasm rams into him. Ignis watches his face melt with it, the strength of his own climax leaving him feeling boneless and floaty, and in a distant, far-off part of his mind, he embraces that this is no fleeting attraction, but something substantial, and momentous, and almost too bright to behold.

Gladio stays buried inside of him, shaking almost imperceptibly and heaving breaths, and Ignis watches him try to and regain his mental capacities. His own come is sticky and cooling against his stomach, and the feel of Gladio softening inside of him makes his heartbeat falter. Tentatively, he lifts up to catch Gladio’s lips, and hums as Gladio’s tongue slips into his mouth, no hesitation, no second thoughts.

“So,” Gladio eventually mumbles, and Ignis is surprised he can form words, “I don’t have to write you an invitation to stay the night, do I?” Ignis groans, but he smiles through it, dropping his head against Gladio’s shoulder.

The larger man eventually pulls away, slipping out of him gingerly, and Ignis winces. “That’ll be sore in the morning,” he sighs, and Gladio chuckles and rubs his thighs comfortingly. Ignis watches as he pulls the condom off and ties it, and he enjoys the view of his back, lightly bruised and scratched up from Ignis’s hands, as he wanders into the bathroom.

A relaxing fog begins to wrap itself around his mind, and he sags against Gladio’s pillows, taking the opportunity to soak in the state of his bedroom. It’s smartly furnished and accented with earthy tones, and his bed is quite comfortable, which is a definite plus. Just for a moment, he indulges in his fantasies, of the many hours and mornings he could spend lounging in this bed, sleep-warm and surrounded by strong arms.

The light in Gladio’s bathroom clicks off and he reemerges, and Ignis takes the damp washcloth he’s offered. “Kinda did a number on your neck,” Gladio says sheepishly, and Ignis touches his throat as he cleans himself off and discards the cloth in the general direction of their clothes. Even without a mirror, his skin is tender, and he can tell he’ll have a few choice, difficult to mask bruises in the morning. “Sorry about that.”

“I thought I made it abundantly clear how much I enjoyed it, though. Don’t apologize.” Gladio moves to collapse next to him with a groan, shaking the bed with his weight. “Besides, Noct won’t bring it up if he knows what’s good for him.”

That makes Gladio grin. “Spoken like a true tyrant.”

“Yes, that’s a theme, sex always leaves me feeling unusually tyrannical,” Ignis says as Gladio’s arm comes around to circle his waist, pulling him closer and tangling their legs together. Ignis quirks an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t figure you the cuddling type.”

Gladio has the good sense to look mildly concerned. “Why, is it a problem?”

Ignis kisses him gently. “No, just a point of commonality.”

“We should make a list of them.”

“Maybe later,” Ignis murmurs, and leans in again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a quiet moment, one rendered blurry and unreal by the sunlight hitting the windows. He hears Ignis exhale slowly, feels the way it makes his back and chest compress. He tries to find a term for it, what Ignis could possibly be to him now (a boyfriend, or a lover, or a partner?) but he comes up dry, and decides to leave it for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we see a sort of mini chapter, because I couldn't resist writing it from Gladio's perspective, too. More smut, cause why not.

The rain from the night before had left the sidewalks glistening, so the heat of the morning lends itself well to the mist that clings to Gladio’s bedroom window. Sunlight filters through it, the tendrils of it stretching inward to brighten the room. He wakes up like a marble structure coming to life, groggily and with considerable effort, and there’s an ache in his hips that’s just shy of bothersome enough to rouse him completely.

But Gladio wakes up alone.

He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and sighs. He feels dumb for being disappointed, because the distinct possibility of this happening had been there from the moment he’d first kissed Ignis. The post-orgasm stupor had probably been to blame for how affectionate he’d been, but Gladio can imagine him now, waking up and panicking and slipping out wordlessly. Is it something he should even bring up? Or is this all he gets to keep? A heartache and a soreness and a lust-fueled memory of Ignis clinging onto him, moaning his name in that lovely voice of his.

He hears something like a drawer sliding shut. He regards his bedroom door skeptically, and the flannel that had been hanging on the back of it is mysteriously missing, and there’s definitely a shuffling coming from his kitchen, now that he’s actually paying attention.

Gladio rolls his eyes. “Tone down the melodrama, Amicitia,” he grumbles, and gets out of bed.

Ignis looks up at him when he pads into the kitchen. “Morning. I hope I didn’t wake you,” he says, turning pack to the pan he’s tending on the stove, and Gladio can only manage to shake his head. Ignis has Gladio’s flannel on, buttoned in the middle with the sleeves rolled up, and considering it’s already a decently loose shirt on him, its size is only further emphasized hanging off of Ignis’s shoulders. The soft curve where his thighs meets his ass peeks out teasingly from under the shirt’s hem, and Gladio drinks the sight of him like he’s dying of thirst. “Sorry to borrow your shirt without asking. I think the floor of your bedroom might be a portal of some kind, you should call someone to have it looked at.”

Gladio sidles up behind him, his arm moving to wrap around Ignis’s front, pressing his hand solidly against his abdomen. “No, no problem,” he says, and lays a kiss behind Ignis’s ear. He’s got an omelet going on the stove, and Gladio’s surprised he even had half the stuff he sees mixed in there. “You should borrow it sometime.”

Ignis doesn’t seem to mind the contact, and he chuckles as he leans back into Gladio’s chest instinctively. “It’s not really my style, or my size. But it’s certainly comfortable.”

“Maybe it’d look better on the floor, then,” he says lowly. He catches the almost unnoticeable hitch in Ignis's breath as Gladio presses his hips against the man’s ass, the hand on Ignis’s stomach inching a bit lower as he kisses down the line of Ignis's neck.

But Ignis laughs, almost breathlessly, and turns his head to kiss Gladio’s jawline. “Not before you _eat_ ,” he commands, and Gladio huffs his disappointment against Ignis’s shoulder. “I didn’t drag myself out of bed for all this effort to go to waste. And as an aside, you’re almost out of butter.”

Gladio drags himself away, his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. Far be it from me to keep a man from cooking half naked in my kitchen.”

“You are _fully_ naked, I’ll have you know.” Ignis can’t hold back his laughter, shutting the burner off. Gladio takes note that his hair is no longer mussed and disheveled like he’d left it the night before, but it’s not as styled as it normally is, either. It’s a good look; he seems relaxed, casual. Gladio takes the plate that’s presented to him. “Now eat and check back with me in ten minutes, maybe I’ll have changed my mind.”

They eat opposite one another, standing in Gladio’s small kitchen with the sounds of traffic rolling by from outside. It's dreamlike, and it leaves him feeling weightless. “It’s really not fair that you’re good at cooking _and_ baking,” Gladio tells him, because honestly, it’s a great omelet.

“You’ve had but a glimpse at my extraordinary repertoire of skills.” Ignis waves his fork grandly. “I also spend a lot of time indoors.” Gladio muses that he’d been incredibly wrong for a very long time, and that he likes this man quite a bit after all.

They fall into a companionable silence, and Gladio’s mind wanders. He wants to raise a question, but also doesn’t want to ruin a pretty perfect moment in time with the gravity of it. He’s not sure when the epiphany had hit Ignis, but it had rammed into Gladio like a speeding car the night after he’d talked it over with Prompto. Sure, sex with Ignis had been _great_ , had completely blown his brief and somewhat shy imaginings of what it could have been like out of the water and clear into space. But it’s not like any of that unabashed pining has diminished from a single night with him, and Gladio’s left with incomplete propositions and possible futures dying on his lips.

He starts saying, “Hey, listen,” just as Ignis begins with, “I think,” and they both stop, eyeing each other carefully.

“No, please, you first.” Ignis bends before he has a chance to, and Gladio tries his best to word this without coming across as pathetic.

“I, uh,” he starts, his mind inconveniently numb, “I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, but if we… if we kept on like this, you know, you and I? I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot, so long as you’d be down, too.” His heart is hammering in his hears like an upset timpani drum.

Ignis appears to mull it over, his expression lost in thought. “I suppose it would depend.”

“On… on what?” Gladio tries to keep the trepidation out of his voice.

“Did you like the eggs? I don’t think it’d be in my best interest to date someone without a discerning and appreciative palate.”

He stares, and Ignis’s green eyes shine over the rim of his glasses, and Gladio can't help the grin tugging at his mouth, helpless to do anything about it. “I really hate you,” he says.

“The sentiment is entirely mutual, Gladio,” Ignis replies, and Gladio relishes the way his name forms in that gorgeous, gorgeous mouth.

The dishes are left in the sink to be dealt with later, although Ignis complains about unsanitary this and procrastination that, but Gladio catches him with hands on his hips and a firm press of their mouths, and finds it’s not actually too hard to distract him. After all, ten minutes have passed, and when Gladio brings it up, Ignis’s pupils expand like he’s definitely changed his mind.

They end up on the couch, Ignis’s legs wrapped around his waist as he sinks down on Gladio’s cock. Gladio watches the motion of it, engrossed in the blissed out expression on Ignis’s face, his eyes glassy and his mouth parted around a sigh. The flannel hasn’t come off completely, but it’s unbuttoned and it’s sliding down one of Ignis’s shoulders, baring the smooth, flushed skin of his chest and his throat, still littered with love bites from the night before. Ignis takes his time to acclimate to Gladio’s length once again, and Gladio uses it as an opportunity to reel himself back from the brink, head spinning from the burning vice of Ignis’s body.

Eventually, Ignis lifts his hips in a way that’s agonizingly, downright torturously slow, and when he slams back down, Gladio bucks up to meet him. It pulls a moan out of Ignis that Gladio wants to etch into his memory, to be replayed again and again.

His hands caress Ignis’s thighs where they’re trembling against him. “Still good?” he asks, voice punched out like he’d run a marathon, and Ignis nods, hands braced against Gladio’s chest.

“Deeper.” His voice is reedy, and as he focuses on building a rhythm in Gladio’s lap, he catches his stare, how Gladio appears to be mesmerized by his panting, kiss-red mouth and the curve of his cock against his abdomen. He smirks knowingly. “Enjoying the view?”

He sinks down to the hilt and Gladio groans, head falling down against Ignis’s shoulder. “You oughta come with a warning label,” Gladio tells him, and it makes Ignis laugh. Gladio lets one hand trail up Ignis’s chest to rub at a nipple while the other reaches for Ignis’s own length, and the added stimulus makes Ignis whine, his tempo increasing as he’s overcome with a desperate need for release.

Ignis rides him like he was built for it, and Gladio licks into his mouth, swallowing the wanton, shaky sounds coming from his throat. Gladio’s climax pulses through him, pleasure flooding into him from every point of contact, and he holds Ignis as he shakes apart only moments later, arms wrapped around Gladio’s shoulders and trying to catch his breath.

Gladio sits, Ignis a firm but welcome weight in his lap, and traces listless patterns against the other man’s back as he slowly recomposes himself. At some point, Ignis’s fingers slide into his hair, and Gladio gets lost in the sensation of it, the soft fabric of his own shirt comforting under his hands.

It’s a quiet moment, one rendered blurry and unreal by the sunlight hitting the windows. He hears Ignis exhale slowly, feels the way it makes his back and chest compress. He tries to find a term for it, what Ignis could possibly be to him now (a boyfriend, or a lover, or a partner?) but he comes up dry, and decides to leave it for another day.

Ignis speaks after a long while, and his voice is hoarse from being so vocal. Gladio wants to hear it for hours, knowing that he’s the reason why. “I’m sorry about that stunt I pulled with your scotch.” He draws back to rest his forehead against Gladio’s. “I’m sure it was expensive. Didn’t even enjoy it.”

“What, that?” Gladio asks, hands trailing up the knobs of Ignis’s spine. “I mean, I was being too much of an idiot at the time to realize it, but that was probably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen you do. Before last night, that is.”

Ignis tilts his head back to let Gladio kiss a trail down to his collarbone. “I hope you committed it to memory, then, because it stung all the way down.”

“Trust me, I did.” Gladio says, blows lightly against the dip at the base of Ignis’s neck to watch him jump. “Sorry about that one time I nearly put a hole through your drywall.”

Ignis clicks his tongue. “Oh, no, I deserved that one. I’ve been thinking of repainting the walls, anyway, it might have finally given me a reason to commit to it.”

The thought of Ebony reminds Gladio that he’s not actually sure when he’d lumbered out of bed, or how long they’ve spent tangled up in one another. Gladio cranes his neck to try and get a view of the digital clock above his stove. “Speaking of which, don’t you open in a couple hours?”

Ignis stiffens up, apparently having lost track of time himself, before deflating in Gladio’s hold. “I knew I should have done more prep last night. I had a feeling something was going to happen.”

“You just weren’t expecting this.”

“You could have told me straight to my face that this was going to happen and I wouldn’t have believed you.” Ignis sighs, nudging his glasses up to rub at one of his eyes, and Gladio decides not to remark on what an endearing image it makes. “And Noct has the day off, so no help on that front.”

Gladio moves into kiss him on the cheek, and Ignis regards him inquisitively. “How hard could it be?”

Those green eyes watch him earnestly, and something within Ignis seems to release, the tension in him unwinding by just a fraction. “We should probably get dressed, then.” He pokes Gladio in the ribs and he has to hold back a yelp. “Could I use your shower?”

“I don’t know if I have enough hot water for both of us,” he replies, leaning in to brush his lips against Ignis’s, “and it might save us time to go together.”

He seals the kiss and Ignis hums against him, and he’s pretty sure he’s won the man over when he feels a nip at his bottom lip. “Tempting as that may be, I know a trap when I see one, Mr. Amicitia.” Gladio’s left slack-jawed as Ignis pulls out of his grip, waving flippantly over his shoulder as heads in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be quick!”

“I think you might actually kill me.” Gladio yells after him.

“My plan all along, incidentally.” Ignis shouts back.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all becomes routine, and familiar. Then, down the block on Ignis’s side of the street, maybe four or five storefronts away, a commercial building is quietly sold at an auction, and something new blossoms overnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you to know that my references during this editing process were 1) angry words for said 2) synonyms for annoyance and 3) the course catalog for the Culinary Institute of America.

Rumor starts circulating that, every once in a while, if you show up to Ebony right before they open, sometimes the hot, ripped barista from Insomnia can be seen leaving the back room, with flour on his cheek one day or rubbing at food dye on his fingers another. The only logical answer is that it’s sabotage, and the barista from Insomnia must be earning the guy from Ebony’s trust so that he can steal all his secrets and make a fortune.

When Prompto tells Gladio this, he sighs. “And I thought I was being so subtle.”

If anything, though, it only serves to boost the popularity of both Insomnia and Ebony. It’s always a scoop when the two worlds collide, Gladio leaving with a box from Ebony or Ignis reading a book in a booth at Insomnia, and though no one has ever been able to confirm it, there are even people who claim to have seen them both with coffees from the competitor.

It’s a scandal! It’s downright hysteria!

Noct’s standing in Ignis’s kitchen one morning, very deliberately not touching anything and squinting at all of the surfaces. He’s trying to calculate the most convenient angles without actually thinking of Gladio and his best friend when he’s scared half to death by said best friend materializing at his side.

“Please, that’s just unhygienic.” Ignis scoffs, hefting a bag of flour off his shoulder and onto the counter. “Not to mention uncomfortable.”

“Hey, how am I supposed to know what gets you and Gladio going?” Noct teases.

“I don’t know, what gets you and Prompto going?” Ignis asks with one hand braced on the counter and the other on his hip, and he points when he sees how the question makes Noct flinch. “Right, exactly, so help me start measuring this and stop thinking about it.”

The town practically overflows with excitement when Insomnia and Ebony team up for a wine and dessert night, and it turns into a bit of a block party, both stores staying open later than normal to allow customers to flit back and forth between them. The most exciting part about it is seeing the respective staffs mingle; Cindy hangs out inside Ebony to share grapefruit macarons and Sauvignon blanc with Iris, and nobody dares to bother Noctis and the boy that no one can seem to pin down, too wrapped up in one another and intimate for anyone to want to disturb them.

Someone claims to see the baristas talking at some point, too, smiling at one another and sharing a drink, but it’s unlikely, and kind of preposterous to consider, so most people ignore it.

That drives the community poll at the university into a frenzy, to the point that stickers end up the walls adjacent to the bulletin board, on the floor, a few taller students even reaching up to the ceiling. It’s completely impossible to tell anymore who’s in the lead, and the written side of the board looks like a coloring page done by an overenthusiastic child, the words and letters that once stood out there so tangled and unreadable against one another. The only thing that even resembles human language is a pristine piece of computer paper stapled on top of everything that reads **THEY’RE BOTH GOOD** in large, bold font that surprisingly no one has touched.

“A peaceable solution.” Iris says with finality and satisfaction. Noct nods solemnly, but Prompto still seems perplexed.

“How do you even scrape those off?” he mumbles, frowning at the stickers on the ceiling. “I think those are up there for good.”

“Maybe it’ll turn into a myth or somethin’.” Cindy supplies. “Legend has it that Gladio and Ignis fist fought at this very spot to find out once and for all which coffee shop was better.”

“That’s not fair, Gladdy would kill him.” Iris says.

“I dunno.” Noct shrugs. “Ignis is scrappy.”

Blocks away, pinned against the inside of the door of his apartment, Ignis stops kissing Gladio and looks up.

“What, what’s wrong?” Gladio asks, breathing hard.

Ignis squints, unsure of the sensation that had just assaulted him but too keyed up to care. “Nothing, thought I heard something,” he says, and hauls Gladio back in by the front of his shirt.

* * *

 

Summer looms on them like a quiet and burgeoning threat, the promise of tourists and students with excess free time to kill sure to make their lives more hectic, effective immediately. Noct and Prompto spend more time together, alternating between Insomnia and Ebony to bother their respective managers.

(“Prompto keeps asking me to name a drink after him.” Gladio says as he tosses his keys on the counter.

“Odd, Noct asked me the same thing yesterday.” Ignis replies from where he’s lounging on Gladio’s couch.

“Are you gonna do it?”

“No, of course not.”

“Cool, me neither.” Gladio says and kisses the grin on Ignis’s face.)

Sometimes they’re joined by Cindy, or Iris, or both, if they’re all feeling in particularly rare form. Cindy has an internship with an automotive company in the city that keeps her busy, but she spends her evenings and weekends around town, and Noct and Prompto, both newly graduated and unsure of their purposes, decide to take it slow and enjoy the summer while they can.

It all becomes routine, and familiar. Then, down the block on Ignis’s side of the street, maybe four or five storefronts away, a commercial building is quietly sold at an auction, and something new blossoms overnight.

“It’s just a bar.” Iris reports, sauntering back into Ebony’s front terrace. “No coffee or anything, just alcohol.”

“It couldn’t have been just a bakery, huh.” Gladio sighs, and Ignis rubs his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s kinda artsy, too. Lots of abstract paintings and weird lighting.” She brings her fingers up in a set of air quotes. “The name, too, they’re calling it ‘the Oracle.’”

“It’s advertising to the right demographic, that’s for sure.” Ignis concedes.

Iris sighs. “They’re probably gonna make a new chart on the bulletin board, too.” Beyond them, her eyes travel to Ebony’s interior, and she perks up immediately. “Oh, Cindy’s back early today! ‘Scuse me, guys.”

The Oracle, for all that it embraces its own pretense, becomes a minor but present thorn in Gladio’s side. Every once in a while he’ll get an order for some drink that he’s never heard of, a Frenchy or a Death in the Afternoon, and he’ll do a double take. “Oh, you haven’t heard of it?” The customer will say, and it’ll make his blood pressure rise. “It’s the best thing they serve over at the Oracle.”

He’s stubborn about it, but he enlists Prompto’s help to come up with new and exciting cocktails.

“ _You_ ,” Prompto tells him, very gravely, “have put your trust in the right person.” Eventually, after trying a number that straight up taste like lighter fluid, he ropes Cindy into the arrangement as well.

Evening falls on Insomnia comfortably nowadays, the sunsets golden on the sidewalk outside. The nighttime party rush hasn’t burst through the front door yet, so Ignis is nursing a cappuccino at the bar with a novel Gladio recommended (his tastes in most forms of entertainment, Ignis finds, are extremely refined and endearing) while Gladio does inventory in the back.

The woman who swings the door open is clad in a leather jacket and sunglasses, and looks for all the world like she wants to swallow him whole. He blinks, unperturbed, and his gaze falls on the lithe, blonde girl who sidles in behind her. She offers him a smile, and he returns it.

The first woman slides off her sunglasses in a motion that screams confidence. “Nice to finally meet the owner of the infamous Insomnia.”

“You haven’t.” Ignis quips, and the woman’s demeanor falters slightly. He turns behind the bar. “Gladio, seems you have a visitor.”

“In a minute!” Gladio calls back, and Ignis turns back to them.

He gestures across the street. “If it’s of any interest to you, I own Ebony, although I’m sure that’s not why you’re here.”

The woman approaches him, her heels clacking against the floor, and her smile is blinding. “No, that’s great! Saves me the trip tomorrow morning, then. What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia, pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The handshake she gives Ignis is one of the most crushing he thinks he’s ever received.

“Aranea Highwind.” She tells him, and rests her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “And this is Luna Fleuret. We just opened the Oracle down the street from you guys.”

Ignis sets down his book and reminds himself to play nice—after all, Aranea and Luna are more Gladio’s competition than his. “I noticed. I dropped in for a drink about a week ago, you have an impeccable eye for interior design.”

Aranea looks surprised. “That’s awfully kind of you. I’m a disaster with stuff like that, though, that was all Luna.”

“Aranea taught me how to mix drinks, I taught her how to furnish a room.” Luna shrugs one shoulder, and her earrings sparkle prettily. “Everything’s a give and take.”

Ignis takes note of the warm presence at his back, and Gladio leans across the bar to his left, his elbows against the countertop. “You two are the bartenders over at the Oracle, right?” He grins good-naturedly at them. “Givin’ me a run for my money. Half the stuff people order nowadays, I’ve never heard of. I’m Gladio, by the way.”

“I actually recognized a few of your signatures.” Ignis says. “An old teacher of mine taught a mixology course that I took as an elective, and the names have been changed slightly, but they’re still essentially the same.”

Aranea squints, regarding him closely. “Wait, I thought you looked familiar.” She says, sounding curious. “Ignis Scientia? Did I go to college with you?”

He stares at her and it takes a moment of wracking his brain, but eventually his eyes widen. “Beverage Operations Management,” he breathes.

She grins. “With Leonis!”

“Your hair is different!”

“Yeah, and a million other things, too.” She claps him solidly on the arm and he smiles despite the force of it. “Guess we’re not totally rid of each other yet, then, huh?”

“Apparently not.” Ignis replies.

They entertain Aranea and Luna for a while, boring business talk that’s amicable but also indicative of people who've just met each other. Strangely, Ignis can imagine becoming good friends with both of them, and Gladio makes friends like it’s an accident, so maybe a new bar in town won’t be such a bad thing after all.

It gets darker outside and chattering customers start flooding in, and Aranea and Luna bid them farewell, due to open their own place for the night. As they leave, Prompto holds the door for them, back from his break with Noctis in tow.

“Who were they?” He asks, staring over his shoulder.

“New challengers.” Ignis tells him.

“Meaning they’re probably just a pair of nice girls who came to say hi.” Noct says, lightheartedly kicking at Ignis’s foot. He kisses Prompto and makes for one of Insomnia’s more secluded booths to play on his phone, and Prompto heads behind the counter.

Only a few minutes later, Iris and Cindy sweep in, back from an afternoon in the city for Cindy to start her evening shift. Cindy winks at Ignis as she passes by and Iris goes to join Noct, who looks up and smiles when he sees her.

The thrum of activity is calming, and Ignis relaxes, only to jerk when a gust of air puffs across the back of his neck. He reels around, trying to hold back his laughter and look very, very serious when he says, “I told you to stop doing that.”

Gladio braces his hands on the bar. “You did, but also it’s funny.” He tilts his head. “So? What’d you make of them?”

“Of whom?” Ignis asks, fingers sliding over Gladio’s against the countertop.

“You know, the girls from the Oracle. Aranea and Luna.”

Ignis mocks insulted. “Don’t tell me you were waiting for me to size them up.”

Gladio flips his hand over with a grin. “Don’t really gotta wait, baby. C’mon, you’ve got a better eye for it than I do.”

Ignis hums, and he takes the compliment, threading his fingers with Gladio’s. “I remember Aranea now, she was always ahead of everyone else, including me sometimes. She’d be an admirable threat if you ever manage to upset her, and Luna could always be a dark horse as well.”

“So I should stay on my toes but be friendly.”

“That, and maybe try to give them a run for their money.” Ignis rubs circles against the back of Gladio’s hand with his thumb, leaning in slowly. “You and I could try new drinks out. Stay up all night, see what works and what doesn’t.”

Gladio inclines his head to meet him in the middle. “You’ve got a competitive streak, don’t you?”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed.” Ignis whispers.

He kisses Gladio over the bar, their hands laced together, and everything falls away. The customers, the coffee shop, the Oracle down the street, and the cappuccino, growing cold on the counter between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole mess was an exercise to help cope with finishing the game, so thank you so much for reading and I really hope you liked it! I've loved reading everybody's comments and encouragement as I've posted the chapters of this, so I really appreciate it!


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